


L'Un Vers L'Autre

by Tyrion_Lannister



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Humor, I just have too many feelings ok, M/M, Smut, also poetry because t.s. eliot, and phone sex, see its not just porn, sex and feels, text sex?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-05 10:18:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 41,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyrion_Lannister/pseuds/Tyrion_Lannister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. Everyone falls in love, but it's not going to be an easy ride. There will be falling outs and parties along the way, but everything's OK as long as they have each other.</p><p>(Changed the summary because it was bugging me, but I still suck at them)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is swooning, both reluctant and shameless.

**Grantaire**

Grantaire was used to waking up with a throbbing head and a mouth that tasted like a turkey’s crotch, ever since he and Eponine had first raided the Thenardier’s illegal alcohol stash at the age of fourteen. Usually, though, he at least got to wake up in _silence_.

“I KNEW YOU WERE TROOOUUUUBLE WHEN YOU WALKED IN, SO SHAAAME ON ME NOOOW, FLEW ME TO PLACES I’D NEVER BEEN, NOW I’M LYING ON THE COLD HARD GROOOUUUND –”

He groaned, rolling over onto his front and jamming a pillow over his ears. Much to his displeasure, it wasn’t enough to muffle the assault on his eardrums, which seemed to be emanating from right outside his bedroom door at a volume of roughly a thousand decibels. He lay still for a second, cursing his flatmate, before jamming his fists into his eyeballs in an attempt to make the world less fuzzy and sitting bolt upright in bed. “EPONINE!”

The tuneless caterwauling abruptly ceased. Grantaire thought he could hear muffled laughter in its place, but upon rueful reflection decided it could just as easily be the merciless chuckle of the hangover currently spooning his brain and poking teeny tiny needles into his skin. Needles that were _on fire_. His bedroom door flew open – Jesus _Christ_ , was it always that _loud_? – revealing the small, demonically grinning figure of his best friend. “Well, it was about time you woke up.”

Grantaire made a _mmmph!_ noise of disapproval. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Half 2.” Eponine’s eyebrows rose as she lifted herself up on tiptoe to try and peek over the sheets that had bunched around Grantaire’s waist. Noticing the direction of her gaze, he pulled them up to his nipples with a scandalised glare and a raised eyebrow of his own. “Ep, don’t be gross, it’s too early.”

“Chill out, R, I’m not going to molest you,” she replied with a snort of amusement.

“Is there any reason I should get out of bed today?”

“Um. You had a lecture.”

“When is it?”

“…Half an hour ago.”

Grantaire sighed exasperatedly. “I repeat. Is there _any_ reason I should get out of bed today?”

Eponine levelled a glare at him, marching over to the bed and yanking the sheets off the lower half of his body. Grantaire let out an undignified yelp (although he thought of it as more of a _manly growl_ , really) and flailed around uselessly for a couple of seconds before plummeting ungracefully to the floor with one hand clasped protectively over his testicles. Emerging pathetically from the tangled sheets, he shot her a baleful frown and a melodramatic sigh. “I know I say this often, ‘Ponine, but seriously, _go fuck yourself_.”

Smirking, Eponine drawled “Stop it, I’ll blush,” before assuming a much more severe expression, kneeling down on the soft carpet and resting her hands on Grantaire's bony knees. “Seriously R, you need to actually do something that’s productive once in a while, you can’t just sit in every night getting pissed and watching reruns of Gossip Girl. I’m starting to get depressed over how spectacularly uncool you are, even Gavroche has a better social life than you and _he’s eight years old_.”

“Ep, this is beginning to feel like an intervention. Please tell me my parents aren’t about to walk in holding hands and bawling Kumbayah at me because best friends or not, I will _end_ you." He huffed in annoyance. "I am not going to stop drinking, and I am quite happy with my 30% attendance rate at university thankyouverymuch –”

“God, R, you are _tragic_. I don’t give a shit about your drinking and I actually don’t want you to start going to lectures, I quite enjoy watching the vein on Professor Javert’s forehead throb whenever he notices you aren’t in. Seriously, that man needs to get LAID...” She broke off with a slightly dreamy expression on her face. “Actually, that brings me to my point. I met this guy the other day, R, he’s a musical theatre student and a complete dork, I mean, there are elbow patches on his shirt for God’s sake and I don’t even think he’s wearing them ironically, but I want him to do _terrible_ things to my body. My nipples went hard just looking at him.”

Grantaire looked at her with an expression of the utmost revulsion, but she wasn’t paying attention, staring absently out of the window with a goofy smile on her face. Grunting, he turfed her off his knees – why was she even there in the first place, it’s not like there was a bed _right there_ or anything – and stood up, pulling on his abandoned jeans from the night before and muttering something about needing a drink.

“Well, that’s convenient then,” said Eponine, her eyes once again focused on Grantaire’s face. “Marius said he’s meeting a bunch of his friends later in this bar, it’s called the Musain, or something similarly pretentious and French. Anyway, apparently it’s really close to the University, and he said I should come, but there’s no way I’m going on my own in case they’re rapists or Tories or something.” She shot Grantaire a hopeful glance.

“…You want me to go hang out with a bunch of musical theatre students so you can have a shag?” He arched an eyebrow at her, aiming for disapproval but achieving something a lot closer to suppressed amusement. The resulting expression put Eponine vaguely in mind of a constipated bushbaby, but she wisely kept quiet, looking up at Grantaire with innocent eyes and an expectant pout. “They might not all be –” she started.

“Ep, I don’t care, as long as you can promise no one will be singing Taylor Swift. And you’re paying for my drinks, I don’t have any money.”

Eponine snorted and rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “R, one day you’ll realise that you never have any money, I never have any money, we have never had any money and will never have any money, that’s just the way the world works when you’re at the bottom of the social heap. It’s not like it’s ever stopped us from going out and getting astronomically deckchaired before.” The cheeky grin that lit up her face was infectious, and Grantaire smiled back.

He’d do anything for her, really, if she asked.

They’d grown up together, in a shitty council estate, the poverty of its inhabitants going mostly unnoticed by the country at large. Tutted at by the wealthy, sneered at by the Daily Mail, and derided by the government as criminals and scroungers whenever a scapegoat was required to take the blame for the financial issues that faced their great capitalist nation, people like them stuck together because they had no one else. That’s how it was for Grantaire and Eponine, and that’s how it had always been for the poorest of the poor. It was only a mixture of luck and determination that had seen them both get accepted into University with full scholarships, and still, they viewed outsiders with the same mistrust that they were used to receiving from others. They were each other’s emotional crutch – well, along with the alcohol they both consumed in quantities that some would deem unhealthy – and they loved each other fiercely.

Grantaire leant forward to ruffle his best friend’s hair, prompting her to swat ineffectually at his wrists, then rose with a sigh, wrapping the sheets around his waist and going in search of his first drink of the day.

-ooo-

**Enjolras**

Enjolras finished typing up his essay with a tired sigh, saving it – twice, in different formats, _just in case_ – before closing his top-of-the-range laptop. Leaning back in his desk chair, he roughly pulled his fingers through his unruly blond hair, trying to tame it and failing miserably. With a quick glance at his iPhone, he ascertained the time – 6:13pm – and noticed that he’d received two texts while he’d been writing about the successes and failures of the pre-war coalition government. The first, from Combeferre, his closest friend, simply confirmed the date of the next meeting of their newly-formed student group, dedicated to rooting out and denouncing social injustice. The second, from Courfeyrac, consisted of a picture of a grumpy-looking cat sporting a party hat over luxurious blond curls that appeared to have been hastily added on MS Paint and the message _‘you out tonight? Xxxx’_.

Enjolras yawned, frowning slightly at his phone. He hesitated briefly, discarded Combeferre’s informative missive, then composed a text to Courfeyrac.

_No, not tonight. I’m really tired and I have a nine o’clock lecture tomorrow morning. Why are you even going out on a Thursday night anyway?_

His phone vibrated in his hand just as he was about to set it back on the desk.

_Why not? Could be fun. Marius is bringing someone ;) you could lure them into joining our cause with your sexy political vitriol xxxxx_

Enjolras paused for a minute, briefly wondering if there was a way to send an actual scowl via text message, then gave up and flopped bonelessly out of his chair and into his bed, narrowly missing removing his kneecaps on the corner of his bedside table but too tired to care. He wiggled out of his hoodie and jeans without bothering to sit up, obliviously creating a scene that would have incited a case of the uncontrollable giggles in any of his friends had they been around to witness it. Once he’d accomplished the seemingly Olympian task of removing his clothes, he was asleep within minutes, his face buried in the Harry Potter pillowcases that he’d owned – and cherished, although he would have been too embarrassed to admit it – since the age of ten.

-ooo-

_A la volonté du peuple, et à la santé du progrès, remplis ton cœur d'un vin rebelle, et à demain, ami fidèle…_

Enjolras woke up to the sound of his phone ringing and sat up, blearily rubbing his eyes. He reached for the device, his fingers connecting with it clumsily just as it stopped ringing. Squinting at the screen, he saw Courfeyrac’s name next to the missed call notification and groaned internally. It was 9:34pm. Realising he also had a text from Jehan, the sweet-natured poet who’d been his friend since primary school when Enjolras had attempted to protect the smaller boy - who had ultimately proven to be quite capable of defending himself - from bullies who’d mocked him for having flowers in his hair, he swiped the screen to read it and settled back down on his pillows.

_Enj, you should come out! I haven’t seen you in weeks, everyone’s here. Feuilly’s got a cold and it’s making Joly cry, Bossuet’s already knocked over four drinks, Courfeyrac is reciting what he says is poetry to the barmaid but I think it’s actually Rihanna lyrics, and even Combeferre’s here (but he's being a killjoy and sitting by himself in the corner muttering about operant conditioning). :3 we miss you xoxox_

He had to smile at the mention of all of his friends; it was impossible to not be affected by Jehan’s good humour. And it was true, he hadn’t seen him in weeks. The final months of his first year at University were keeping him busy; not only did he have several essays to ace in order to maintain his perfect record of unblemished Firsts, he also had the group to manage, which was rapidly gaining new members and taking up increasing amounts of Enjolras’s time. He felt a twinge of guilt, and sighed. Maybe he should go out, just to catch up with his friends over a quick drink… _If I get back by midnight I can still get eight hours sleep before I need to wake up._ He pondered the question for a couple of minutes, then, making his decision, stretched languorously and got out of bed, reaching for the clothes strewn across his floor. Picking up his phone, he sent off a quick text to Jehan with an ETA of 15 minutes, then, after a quick glance in the mirror to check that his hair wasn’t giving him an uncanny resemblance to Medusa, grabbed his wallet and left the apartment.

-ooo-

Twenty minutes later, Enjolras was standing outside the Musain, the pub favoured by his friends for its quaint atmosphere and welcoming patrons. Enjolras appreciated it largely because it was usually fairly quiet, unlike most other venues near the University, so it was in a state of extreme apprehension that he approached the doors; he’d been able to hear the riotous laughter and loud music from across the street. Walking into the pub, he immediately discerned the cause, and frowned in disapproval.

The large table that usually occupied the space under the window had been pulled out from against the wall and dragged into the middle of the room. Courfeyrac, Marius and Bahorel were leaning against one end, singing what Enjolras thought was an Irish folk song with gusto and surprising talent, but his attention only lingered on them for a moment before being inevitably drawn to the dancers. A boy and a girl, both of whom looked a couple of years too young to be in a pub, dancing.

On.

The.

_Table._

Enjolras was stunned by this display of rowdy behaviour, turning towards the bar to seek out the barmaid, Musichetta, with his eyes – she, alas, appeared to be enjoying the performance just as much as the rest of his friends, who were laughing and clapping along, all in various states of inebriation. His eyes shot back to the table as he examined the exuberant dancers, so taken aback by the scene before him that he could only blink a lot, a bemused expression adorning his marble features. It was comical, really, but went sadly unnoticed by everyone else in the room.

And this was what Enjolras saw.

The girl was dark-skinned, small but vivacious, her hips swinging in time with the music, her feet tapping out a fast rhythm on the wooden surface of the table. She wore a long skirt that danced around her knees, and her long black hair shone and shimmied over her shoulders, stopping just above her waist. Her mouth was open in laughter, on her face an expression of rapturous joy.

The boy, at first, was facing away from Enjolras, his arms around his friend, bending forward to dip her by the waist. Then, straightening up, he turned with a flourish, allowing Enjolras the opportunity to take in the rest of him. Like his friend, he was dark-haired, his curls bouncing around his face, and was laughing, his eyes crinkled at the corners. His eyes, in contrast with the girl’s dark brown ones, were a startling blue. His movements were grand but oddly beautiful, his entire body twisting and moving sinuously with the beat. Looking at him, Enjolras felt a curious swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach, a feeling he was loath to name, or even acknowledge.

All of a sudden, Enjolras came to his senses, snapping his mouth shut and shaking his head a little, as if he were emerging from a strange dream. His customary expression of vague, haughty irritation descended over his regal features, and he strode toward his friends, the majority of whom were seated along the bench which had been unofficially claimed as their own shortly after they discovered the Musain. Jehan was the first to spot him, and smiled broadly with a cry of “Enjolras!,” lunging at him with his arms outstretched and in the process knocking Bossuet’s drink down the unfortunate man’s already considerably sodden front (prompting a squawk from the mildly-splashed Feuilly on one side and a distressed-sounding comment about pneumonia from Joly on the other). Enjolras accepted the hug with a genuine smile and waited for Jehan to disengage before seating himself on the edge of the bench. Raising his eyebrows, he gestured at the dancers in front of him, just as the boy lost his balance and fell, landing on the table with an _oof!_ and bringing his friend down with him to sprawl gracelessly across his lap with a giggle. “Busy in here tonight, I see.”

Jehan smiled guilelessly in return, detecting the slight discomfort in Enjolras’s tone and correctly identifying the cause. “It’s been good fun. They know Marius, I think. Eponine and Grantaire.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to respond, just as Courfeyrac drunkenly barrelled across the room, having finished his song, and launched himself enthusiastically at the blond man’s lap. A move that would have been considerably more suave, thought Enjolras, had he not tripped on a raised floorboard and faceplanted the crotch of a surprised Combeferre, interrupting his mumbled soliloquy about Pavlov’s dogs and attracting the attention of everyone in the room (bar Bahorel, who, judging by the large black boots protruding from beneath the table, appeared to have passed out). Laughing at Courfeyrac’s stammered apologies and the redness of Combeferre’s face, Enjolras looked up, accidentally catching the boy’s – _Grantaire’s_ – eye. His laugh died in his throat, leaving the remnants of amusement on his face. Grantaire, for his part, had lost the exuberant expression that had adorned his face for the best part of the evening, and was staring at Enjolras, something unfathomable in his eyes. Upon noticing that Enjolras was looking directly at him with a quizzically quirked eyebrow, he half-smiled and looked away, seeking out Eponine with his purposeful gaze.

Enjolras turned back to his friends – now engaged in a drunken debate on the merits of socialism – and tried to ignore the unease he felt thrumming through his veins. He was here to see them, to catch up with Jehan and Combeferre, laugh at Courfeyrac’s foolish exploits and make fun of Joly’s hypochondria. _He was not here to get distracted by a beautiful starry-eyed boy with laughter etched on his face and poetry written in the lines of his body._

Jehan, unobserved, watched the shift of emotions play out on Enjolras’s face and smiled knowingly, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

-ooo-

**Grantaire**

“Eponiiiiine!” he trilled, almost skipping towards his best friend, a colourful drink grasped tightly in his hand. She took one look at him and smirked broadly. “Jesus, R, I haven’t seen you this excited since that time we watched that Extreme Shepherding video on YouTube, what happened?”

“I’ve just seen the most spectacularly gorgeous pretentious hipster. I think I’m in love. I want to lick him, Ep, can I lick him?” He was drunk, but not overwhelmingly so, Eponine noticed. His entire body seemed to be vibrating, his movements feverish and lively. _It was good to see him happy_ , she thought; it had been a while since she’d seen him smile half as much as he had that evening, but then Grantaire’s moods had always been eclectic, switching from one extreme to the other with the slightest provocation. “I wouldn’t, R. Some people think that’s rude. Y’know, normal people. You’re supposed to find out their name first, generally, before covering them in your saliva.” At this, Grantaire let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like “Montparnasse” and Eponine reddened, shooting him an evil stare and muttering “Yes, well, that was different.”

“ _Anyway_ , Ep, I know his name. He looks like an Apollo. _Ergo_ , that is his name from now on.”

Snigger. “Grantaire, you are absurd.”

“Yeah, whatever. I don’t know why I’m even talking to you actually, when I could be licking the sweat off his collarbone right now. I thought you came here to try and seduce Mario or whatever his name is, anyway, why aren’t you drooling over his erect phallus right at this very moment?” The last comment was made with an exaggerated wink, prompting Eponine to choke on her drink in a most unflattering way, just as Marius walked past and smiled at them. She blushed fiercely and punched Grantaire in the chest, while he tried – and, incidentally, failed – to suppress his laughter, before turning on her heel and stalking off in the same direction as Marius. Grantaire grinned after her fondly, then downed the rest of his cocktail. _May as well take a leaf out of Ep’s book_ , he thought, scanning the room in search of his Apollo and finding him still seated on the bench, engaged in a deep conversation with two of his friends. Grantaire couldn’t remember their names – one was slight and attractive in a decidedly effeminate way, the other was loud and flirtatious and had joined Grantaire in a rambunctious rendition of ‘Call Me Maybe’ several hours previously. He took advantage of the blond man’s distraction to thoroughly check him out, moving backwards into the shadows so as to lessen the chances of being caught out perving on a stranger.

The object of his lustful affections was slender, but forceful, his movements animated and energetic; he talked with his whole body, Grantaire noted. He was wearing ridiculously tight skinny jeans, much to Grantaire’s amusement, paired with a bright red hoodie, red Converse shoes, and several chiffon-y scarves wound around his neck. _Such a hipster_. His skin was tanned, his hands delicate and long-fingered, his cheekbones high and sharp and his lips curved in a natural pout that Grantaire longed to draw. _Longed to kiss, longed to bite_.

He let his head fall back against the wall behind him and shut his eyes, the seven cocktails he had consumed beginning to take effect. He laughed at himself; seldom was he this affected by good-looking strangers. He imagined pushing him down on his bed, using the stupid scarves the blond man was currently wearing to tie him to the headboard before fucking him into the mattress, pounding into him again and again while Apollo whimpered and writhed beneath him… He let out a ragged breath, becoming aware of the increasing hardness in his jeans, and reluctantly straightened up, opening his eyes and moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue. _I need to get some air. I need to cool off. I need a fucking cigarette_.

Pushing away from the wall, he sloped elegantly towards the door, navigating around the antique furniture despite his drunkenness with an expertise borne from experience. He didn’t notice the solemn blue eyes following his progress, watching him leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extreme Shepherding is a thing, I swear. Seriously, look it up.
> 
> Enjolras's ringtone is from the original French version of Do You Hear The People Sing, that's just how he rolls. Meta all up in this joint.
> 
> The Tories, for people not aware of the English political system, are the right-wing Conservative party. They're currently in power and they are w a n k e r s.
> 
> I welcome any feedback, even if it's bad. I won't cry, honest. This is likely to be LONG so if I suck tell me what I can do to make it better!
> 
> (Dedicated to my friend Hannah - Hannah_Blah over on Tumblr - who persuaded me to write this and who will inflict violence on me if I don't give her smut at some point.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire is enigmatic and Enjolras is awkward.

**Enjolras**

Enjolras, who was incapable of acting uncharacteristically for even a second, frowned. He had tried to prolong the debate with his usual fervour but he just couldn’t concentrate, and before anyone could stop him he was standing up, moving away from the bench purposefully and ignoring Combeferre’s inquisitive look. He worried, briefly, that his friends would guess the reason for his subdued mood, before realising that a) they were probably too drunk to notice, and b) Enjolras stomping off looking vexed was pretty much a nightly occurrence anyway. Before he could reach the door, however, he was stopped in his tracks by Grantaire’s friend. _What was her name again?_

“Eponine. And you are?” She gave him the beady eye from underneath her heavy fringe, her hands resting on her hips. Enjolras resisted the urge to snort at what appeared to be an attempt at intimidation; the girl barely came up to his nipples, _and_ she was wearing high heels. “I’m Enjolras. I was just looking for your friend, actually.”

“Hmm.” She mulled this over, looking contemplative. “Enjolras. Interesting name.”

“That’s rich coming from–”

“Grantaire’s gone outside for a smoke.” She winked and whirled away from him before Enjolras could formulate a response, coming to a stop in the middle of the floor, swaying in time with the music now emanating from the battered jukebox in the corner. With her eyes shut and her arms wrapped around herself, Enjolras thought she looked almost otherworldly. Marius evidently thought so too; Enjolras caught sight of him sitting alone in a corner, watching Eponine with a furrowed brow and an unreadable look in his usually expressive eyes. He didn’t have time to stand there and analyse Marius’s – frankly, weird – behaviour, though, if he wanted to catch Grantaire alone.

That thought pulled him up short and made him stop at the door, one hand on the frame. _Did he want to catch Grantaire alone? Why?_ He shook his head in amused frustration at himself; he hadn’t even had anything to drink and he was acting, by his own standards, completely deranged. With a sigh and a rueful smile, he pulled the door open. _Start as you mean to go on, and all that._

Bracing himself against the cold, he stepped outside, and looked around, spotting Grantaire almost immediately. He was leaning against the wall to the right of the door, sheltered from the wind by his beat-up leather jacket, a cigarette held loosely between his fingers. Enjolras’s curiosity was piqued as he looked the boy up and down and realised that Grantaire’s jacket was not the only aspect of his attire that could be described as scruffy – similarly, his jeans were ripped at the knees, the soles of his shoes were visibly loose, and _was that a burn mark on the collar of his shirt?_ With a start, Enjolras realised that Grantaire was watching him with a wry smirk curling his lips and an amused glint in his blue eyes, darkened with the shadows of the evening. “Like what you see?”

Enjolras’s eyes widened as he spluttered uselessly. “I- _What_?!”

“Unclench, Apollo. It was a joke. Mostly.” He laughed quietly, then leant forward, offering Enjolras a cigarette with a raised eyebrow.

 “No, thank you. I don’t smoke,” said Enjolras stiffly, regaining his composure. “And neither should you, it’s bad for your health. What did you just call me?!”

Grantaire laughed again, a note of incredulity evident in his voice. “I know that, _Apollo_. Don’t you think it’s a little presumptuous to tell me what I can and can’t do? You don’t even know me.” Then, under his breath (but not quite under his breath enough): “Of course, that could all be subject to change.”

Enjolras couldn’t help but be taken aback by this boy, this _stranger_ ’s abruptness. His mouth, previously stern, fell open in disbelief. "Seriously?"

Grantaire grinned, his eyes flashing with amusement. "I'm never serious. I am wild."

Enjolras was not used to this sensation, the feeling that Grantaire did not respect his innate authority in the way that everyone else seemed to – the possibility, he slowly realised, that he was being mocked. He didn’t know how to respond, and felt himself getting frustrated at his inability to say anything. _This doesn’t happen to me_.

Grantaire’s smile softened. Evidently, Enjolras’s confusion was showing. _Great. Suave_. He moved closer to Enjolras, dropping his cigarette butt and extending his right arm, hand outstretched. “I’m sorry. Eponine’s always telling me I’m too much of a bastard to talk to actual people. I didn’t mean it, anyway. Truce?”

Enjolras’s lips quirked upwards hesitantly. He was still feeling considerably shaken by his loss of poise, but he took Grantaire’s hand in his own and shook it firmly. Grantaire’s palm was warm and smooth, his grip strong. Enjolras noticed, abstractly, that although Grantaire’s hand was significantly larger than his own, his skin was soft and pale, marred only by the calluses on his fingertips. He wondered where they came from, then, realising he might come across as totally dim-witted if he didn’t let go, pulled his hand away awkwardly. “Um. Yeah. I’m Enjolras, by the way.”

“Enjolras.” His name sounded warm in the other man’s voice, like a handful of musical notes or a verse of poetry. “I’m Grantaire. Most people call me R, though.”

“Ha. Nice pun.”

“Yeah, no one ever gets that.”

“My nanny was French.”

“Your _nanny_?” Grantaire’s expression was comical, a mixture of surprise and sheer amusement. “I should have known, I suppose, looking at you.” He eyed Enjolras up and down, his gaze pausing at the small expanse of neck left visible by his scarves, making the blond man flush uncomfortably.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Heh, nothing, honestly.” Grantaire was smiling, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Enjolras didn’t know why this upset him, but it did, just a little bit. He scowled at his feet and shifted uncomfortably on the pavement. Breaking the awkward silence, Grantaire shivered, then went to move past Enjolras, zipping up his jacket. “It was nice chatting to you and all, but it’s kind of cold, and I should really go find Eponine and head home. It’s late.”

Enjolras nodded and took a step back to let Grantaire pass. The space between them was still narrow, though, and Grantaire had to turn sideways and breathe in to edge past the smaller man, whose eyes had come to rest on Grantaire’s sharp hipbones, exposed by his too-small T-shirt. He inhaled with a shudder, the scent of Grantaire permeating his nostrils and making his head swim for the briefest of seconds. Before he could think about what he was doing, he was calling out after Grantaire’s retreating back: “There’s a meeting Saturday afternoon, at 4. Here. It’s, um, just a student group, really. We’re called ‘Les Amis de l’ABC’, we fight against social inequality. You should come.”

Grantaire paused, looked down at his feet, and Enjolras could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke. “Nice pun.” Then he was pulling his hood over his head and moving away from Enjolras, retreating back into the warmth of the Musain.

-ooo-

**Grantaire**

Grantaire thought he was about to die. He was going to collapse, right there on the grubby floor, and just stop breathing. Either that, or he was going to spontaneously orgasm all over himself, and he really was too old to be coming in his pants like a teenager.

_I need to find Eponine._

This thought was sadly aborted almost as soon as it came into being, however, as he looked around and spotted his friend draped over Marius’s lap with her tongue halfway down his throat. Grantaire squinted at them for a moment, trying to ascertain the exact location of hands, before sighing impatiently and giving up. He rapidly made his way around the pub, saying goodbye to his new acquaintances, before heading outside for a second time. As he walked out into the night, he glanced around, noticing with a pang of something emotionally dubious that Enjolras was nowhere to be seen.

-ooo-

Half an hour later, and Grantaire was shutting the door to his flat, locking it behind him just in case Eponine decided not to come back that night. As soon as the door was safely locked, he shed his clothes, dropping them in an untidy heap on the floor. The flat was cold and he didn’t have the money to waste on unnecessary things like warmth or comfort, so he detoured into Eponine’s room and dragged all the blankets off her bed – _well, it’s not like she was using them_ – before flopping into his own, snuggling into the heap of duvets with a _nyahhh!_ of pure, untainted bliss.

In his comfort zone at last, he let his thoughts stray to Enjolras. _Enjolras_. He was truly, stunningly, jaw-droppingly (erection-inducingly?) _gorgeous_. Grantaire found his conversational awkwardness to be endearing; it was so at odds with his perfect, unruffled appearance. And he could have sworn he heard a sharp intake of breath when he’d brushed past him on his way to leave. _Could someone so perfect actually be interested in someone like Grantaire? He’d seen the way Enjolras had looked at his clothes. Seen the disdain on his face when he’d noticed the cigarette._

Grantaire was confused. But Grantaire was also horny, and at that moment, the latter was the more pressing concern. Such was Enjolras’s effect on him; he’d been half-hard from the moment he’d shaken his hand.

He reached down with one hand, grasping his hardening erection and stifling a gasp as he resumed his earlier fantasy of Enjolras lying, naked with his legs spread, beneath him in bed. _Oh, what it would feel like to suck his cock, fuck him, turn him over and mark that perfect ass with an open palm…_ After that image, it took only a few short strokes before he was coming with a breathless moan, his semen spilling over his fist and onto his stomach.

Reaching for the stack of tissues he kept near his bed, he cleaned himself off tiredly before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Which lasted about an hour, before the blankets were being unceremoniously hauled off of his prostrate form with a muttered “For fuck’s _sake_ , R, stop stealing my fucking duvet.”

-ooo-

Eponine, it turned out, had ended the impromptu make-out session with Marius by throwing up on his shoes. As a result, she was thoroughly miserable the next day, crawling into Grantaire’s bed at midday with popcorn and cheap vodka balanced precariously on a stack of DVD’s. They spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening getting gradually tipsier while judging which of the actors in the Lord of the Rings was the most fuckable.

(Grantaire, who’d historically favoured Viggo Mortensen, found himself inexplicably swaying towards Orlando Bloom.)

(Which was obviously completely unrelated to the overwhelming attraction he felt for the willowy blond he’d met the previous night.)

(Eponine, in a surprising turn of events, announced her long-standing crush on John Rhys-Davies. Now that really _was_ inexplicable.)

They also spent a good portion of the evening catching up on each other’s respective gossip. Which was why, as the clock struck 10, Eponine turned to Grantaire and asked: “So, do you think you’ll go to this little meeting tomorrow?”

Grantaire groaned into a pillow. “I don’t know. I want to see him again. But I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I have no idea what’s going on, and he definitely bloody doesn’t, if last night was any indication.”

“…Hmm. _Boys_.”

“Because you’re so efficient, Ep, tell me again what it was like sponging puke off Marius’s feet?” She made a noise that was oddly reminiscent of the Orcs currently dying onscreen and viciously kicked him underneath the sheets. “ _Ow_. And another thing. From what Enjolras said, I gather it’s a political group of enthusiastic teenagers who want to right the wrongs of society, isn’t that just the _wankiest thing you’ve ever heard_?”

“I think you should go.”

“Ever the optimist, aren’t you?”

“Nah, it’s not that. I drunk-dialled Montparnasse on my way home last night and arranged a booty call for tomorrow, it might be a bit awkward if you’re third-wheeling around in the flat uselessly when he gets here.”

“ _Twat._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left feedback on Chapter 1! Keep on letting me know what you think.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras is tactless and Grantaire has baggage.

**Enjolras**

Enjolras, in contrast, had had a productive Friday, managing to hand in his thoroughly proofread essay and get to all of his five lectures on time before heading back to the flat he shared with Courfeyrac and Joly, intending to finish the discussion material for the next day’s meeting. He had butterflies in his stomach thinking about it, which, he suspected, had little to do with persuading strangers to join his cause and significantly more to do with the possibility of Grantaire’s presence. The memory of the night before had been flitting back and forth across his mind all day, bringing with it each time a sense of uneasy foreboding. He realised, uncomfortably, that he knew absolutely nothing about the other man; he briefly wondered what the furore would be like the next day if it turned out that he’d invited a raging pro-capitalism right-winger to the meeting of socialists, before dismissing this as an unlikely occurrence. Judging by Grantaire’s dishevelled appearance, he wasn’t the type to be hoarding extortionate amounts of money. _Regardless, he might not even turn up._

Reaching home at last, he pushed the front door open and walked into the living room, only to back out again swiftly and slam the door shut after catching a glimpse of a bare-chested Jehan straddling a whining, wriggling, debauched-looking Courfeyrac. “For God’s sake guys, _every time_.  Courf, you have a bedroom, you know, it wouldn’t kill you to use it!”

“Sorry, Enjolras,” came Jehan’s voice from behind the closed door, sounding sheepish. “We were watching Brokeback Mountain and just, um, got carried away…”

“I don’t want to know.”

Enjolras re-entered the house and stomped through the living room and into the kitchen, shielding his eyes with one hand and muttering darkly under his breath. Five minutes later, Jehan and Courfeyrac traipsed in, clothes rearranged in some semblance of decency – much to Enjolras’s relief – and murmuring apologies. Jehan still looked faintly guilty, the childlike blush on his cheeks contrasting disturbingly with his mussed hair, still tangled from Courfeyrac’s fingers. Courfeyrac, typically, was smirking wickedly, attempting to feign an innocent look with his wide green eyes but failing pathetically. Enjolras raised a grumpy eyebrow at them and stayed silent. It was an open secret among the friends that Jehan and Courfeyrac had been involved in a sexual relationship for the past couple of months: a relationship which both partners were apparently keen to keep casual, although Enjolras often caught the tiny poet staring longingly after Courfeyrac in a way that suggested otherwise.

Jehan coughed delicately, attempting to dispel the awkwardness that had settled over the room. “So, um… Are you prepared for tomorrow, Enj?” He leaned forward over the kitchen counter, resting his chin on his delicate hands and fixing his large eyes on Enjolras.

 _God no, but not for the reasons you’re thinking_. “Pretty much. I want to talk about the University’s policy towards students from poorer backgrounds. They’re supposed to be inclusive but their bias towards rich students is _ridiculous_ , I mean, just look at the statistics…” His face illuminated as he spoke, his hands waving around to illustrate his points, his bright eyes shining with a fierce fervour. They passed the next few hours in that way, animatedly discussing politics, and if Enjolras was prolonging the conversation as a means of avoiding having to think about Grantaire, well, it’s not like anyone else knew about it.

Of course, Marius just _had_ to burst in and spoil it. Sometimes Enjolras really regretted giving all of his friends keys to his apartment.

“Enjolras, oh, hi Jehan, Courfeyrac… I just spoke to Eponine, she said you invited Grantaire to the Musain tomorrow?” He blinked earnestly up at the blond man, failing to notice the look of distinct vexation that passed across his face. (Although, in all fairness, it wasn’t _entirely_ dissimilar to Enjolras’s normal expression).

Enjolras swallowed, feeling intensely vulnerable under the scrutiny of three pairs of eyes. “The more people there to help spread the cause, the better,” he said shortly, glancing at his watch in a calculated simulation of boredom. This seemed to appease Marius and Courfeyrac, who turned away and started talking between themselves about whether to order in pizza. It didn’t escape Enjolras’s notice, however, that Jehan’s eyes remained fixed on him, a contemplative expression on his face.

Shortly after, the conversation having turned to women – largely thanks to Courfeyrac interrogating Marius over his exploits of the previous night – Enjolras made his excuses and left the room, intending to slip quietly off to bed. He hadn’t made more than five steps before Jehan caught up to him in the corridor, and spoke, his voice quiet. “Enjolras, you know you can talk to me if you need to, yeah?”

Enjolras started, opening his mouth in surprise. He initially intended to dismiss Jehan with a brief rebuttal, but instead he found himself smiling softly in resignation and reaching out to clasp the smaller man’s shoulder. “Yes. Thank you.” Jehan smiled back, wistfully, before turning back into the kitchen, leaving Enjolras alone in the corridor with only his perturbed thoughts for company.

Stepping into his bedroom, Enjolras undressed with a sigh, folding his clothes neatly before dropping them into his laundry basket (a habit many of his friends took pleasure in mocking on the rare occasion they caught him at it). He climbed into bed, burrowing into his sheets, and despite his disturbed mind, wasted no time in falling asleep.

His dreams that night were troubled, most of them seeming to revolve around a dark-haired boy with a wicked smile and shy blue eyes, dancing just out of his reach.

-ooo-

**Grantaire**

Grantaire woke up at 3pm on Saturday afternoon with a headache that suggested hippos had been fornicating enthusiastically on his brain for the best part of the night. Shaking his head to clear the fog and squinting at his clock, he suddenly realised the time and fell out of bed with a surprised squeak. As Eponine had basically prearranged his absence from the flat that afternoon, and he had nowhere else to go, he had decided rather drunkenly before going to sleep that he may as well accept Enjolras’s invitation. It wasn’t without apprehension that he pulled his crumpled clothes on and prepared to leave; when it came to politics, although not ignorant, he could only be described as at best apathetic.

As he staggered towards the door, briefly pausing to shake the previous day’s underwear out from the leg of his jeans, he passed Eponine, who lifted her head from her English coursework to brightly wish him good luck. He grunted a hoarse ‘thank you’ in her vague direction and left, hoping against hope that the chilly British weather would wake him up slightly before he reached his destination.

Ten minutes later, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out to find a text from Eponine.

_I put a condom in your pocket, just in case. Have fun with your sex kitten x_

Grantaire resisted the urge to eat his own phone in embarrassment before firing off a quick reply.

_I hope you saved some for yourself, if you and Montparnasse were to have a child it would undoubtedly be the SPAWN OF SATAN._

-ooo-

He arrived at the Musain with only a couple of minutes to spare. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and went inside, looking around him and immediately spotting Enjolras and his friends piled up on various benches in a corner, their belongings spread out across a large table – the very table, he realised with a wince of mild embarrassment, that he and Eponine had tipsily danced on the last time he'd been there.

His phone vibrated again, and he checked it before heading over to the corner, slightly grateful for the excuse to linger by the door. As predicted, it was another text from Eponine.

_The flowery one is Jehan, the serious one with the awful glasses and nice ass is Combeferre, the one who always looks on the verge of tears is Joly, the one looking at Joly like he wants to fuck him is Bossuet, you’ll recognise Courfeyrac when he tries to get into your pants, Bahorel is the one who looks like he could bench press you without breaking a sweat, and Feuilly’s the one who’s always fiddling with beer mats. Thank me later x_

Grantaire _loved_ that girl.

Putting his phone away, he forced a cocky smile and strode over to Enjolras, who looked distracted. “Hey. I came.”

It was a struggle to seem unaffected by the blond man. He seemed even more stunning than he had two nights previously, if that were even possible. Grantaire’s gaze lingered on his golden curls, suppressing the urge to reach out and run his hand through them to see if they were as soft as they looked, then dropped slowly down the other man’s body. He was wearing a tight-fitting red T-shirt – well, if he knew nothing else about him, Grantaire could at least hazard a guess at his favourite colour – and what appeared to be the same black skinny jeans from the other night. _They’re still ridiculous, but I can’t deny that they make his ass look spankable._

Enjolras looked up at him, his frown dissipating slightly. Grantaire straightened up swiftly, reddening slightly and hoping that his blatantly lustful stare had gone unnoticed. Enjolras allowed Grantaire a small smile, then gestured towards the bench in front of him, indicating that Grantaire should sit. “I noticed.”

Grantaire nodded, taking the dismissal for what it was and accepting a seat between Feuilly, who was making a paper aeroplane out of one of Enjolras’s pamphlets, and Courfeyrac, who immediately turned and smiled at him welcomingly, his eyes roving brazenly over Grantaire’s body. Grantaire, unshaken but a little amused, opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by Enjolras, whose voice rang out into the pub, silencing everybody and effectively ending several loud conversations.

_This is not the confused, hesitant boy I met the other night._

Suddenly, Grantaire knew why all these people followed Enjolras as if they’d die for him. His speech was impassioned, his eyes bright, his charisma almost overpowering as he persuaded the students to rise up, to fight, to denounce the oppression of patriarchy and the heartlessness of capitalism. Grantaire had already fallen in lust with the man’s appearance, but now he fell in love with his voice.

Enjolras might have spoken for minutes, or it could have been years – Grantaire wouldn’t have known, as absorbed as he was in the man’s movements, his hands punctuating every point he made, slamming down emphatically on the table in front of him when the emotion of his speech reached its crescendo. He gulped, his mouth feeling suddenly dry, his hands clutching unintentionally at the fabric of his jeans. Grantaire could feel his heart pounding unevenly in his chest, as if it had been stirred into action after a prolonged period of lethargy by the passion of the man in front of him.

There was only one problem. As much as Grantaire wished he could honestly believe in the truth of Enjolras’s words, so that he could follow him unreservedly with the obedience of a dog to its master, he just couldn’t efface the cynicism borne from years of struggling, of watching other people get richer while his family so often went without. There were thousands of charities dedicated to helping the poor, so why were people still starving? How often did people ignore the beggars on the street, instead choosing to turn their heads and walk past as if they couldn’t even see the injustices perpetuated by society when there they were, right in front of their eyes? And, to add insult to injury, how often did you see the poorest in society insulted, derided as the scum of the earth throughout the national media? It was a sad truth of life, but eventually one had to come to the inevitable realisation that life was unfair, nobody cared, and idealism was foolish.

Enjolras stopped abruptly in the middle of a sentence. “What?”

 _Oops._ Grantaire hadn’t realised he’d spoken aloud. He sighed softly, realising he was probably about to alienate Enjolras for good. _Why did I decide that being sober for this was a good idea?_ He briefly considered grabbing Enjolras and pushing him forcefully towards the wall, shoving him up against it with the force of his own body and kissing the angry pout off his face, but then came to his senses. _Surprise kissing people who are angry doesn’t get you anything but a punch in the face._

“I said, idealism is foolish. It would be lovely if the world works that way, and everything could just be magically made better by a group of optimistic students, but it just doesn’t.”

Enjolras’s eyes blazed. “And what would you know about it?”

Grantaire felt annoyance flare up inside his chest. “Quite a bit, actually. When I was eight, I had to go with my mum to stand in queues for free food, because my father fucked off and left us fucking broke.” He laughed quietly, darkly. “And do you know what people did, when they saw us there, waiting? They turned away. One old man even spat at my feet. My mum hadn’t eaten for two days so that I wouldn’t starve, do you know what that feels like? If I hadn’t worked hard to get a scholarship, one of the very few that’s even available for people like me, there’s no way I’d be in University now, and do you even know how hard it is for people who are _that fucking poor_ to have any aspirations in the first place?”

Enjolras was silent, his face impassive. Someone behind Grantaire sucked in a breath, quietly, as if waiting for the explosion, but none came.

“There will never be enough people willing to help, Enjolras.” Grantaire’s voice had softened. “Just think about the Civil Rights Movement, or Gender Equality. These battles have been raging for years, and people are still racist, still sexist, still classist.” He smiled, sadly, wistfully. “Even you. Don’t think I didn’t see the way you looked at my clothes the other night.”

And with that, he stood up and moved forward, his head bowed. Before he could push past him, though, Enjolras reached out and grabbed his arm.

“I’m sorry, R. I didn’t mean to presume. But I can’t just sit back and accept the way things are. Things _do_ change. It may take a while, but every person we can convince is one more person on the right side, and if I only ever manage to convince one person, that’s still an improvement.”

Grantaire looked up and met Enjolras’s eye, his emotions in turmoil. He spoke quietly, so that only Enjolras could hear.

“Oh, Apollo. Do you really think the people would rise, if you were to start a revolution, or would they leave you to die alone in the street?”

Enjolras didn’t speak for a moment, but neither did he let go of Grantaire’s arm. Eventually, he opened his perfect, regal mouth. “They would come.” There was a pause, in which Grantaire thought he could feel the force of Enjolras’s passion flowing through his touch and into Grantaire’s own body, but it was not enough – _it is never enough_ – before Enjolras loosened his grip and moved away, continuing to speak. “Without hope, what is there left to live for?”

Grantaire shook his head silently. “I’m going to get a drink.”

-ooo-

**Enjolras**

Enjolras watched him go pensively. Then, turning to his friends, he dismissed them with a curt “That’s enough for today,” and packed up his things, sparing five minutes to hand out pamphlets. That done, he sighed and moved after the other man. He found him sat at the bar, clutching a half-empty bottle of something that was undoubtedly viciously alcoholic and a dubious shade of green.

“Grantaire.”

“Yes, Apollo?”

 _Why does he call me that?_ “I was serious, I really didn’t mean to upset you.”

Grantaire shook his head. “Don’t concern yourself. It’s not you, it’s me.” The last comment is delivered flippantly, with a wink. Enjolras was unsure how to act around him, this man who uses humour and melodrama as a mask, so settled for resting his hand on Grantaire’s shoulder for a brief second, hoping it didn’t come across as patronising. “You don’t have to come to another one of these meetings, R, not if you don’t want to.”

“I wouldn’t miss hearing you speak like that. Not for the world.” And Grantaire actually seemed serious. He looked up at Enjolras, blue eyes meeting blue, and smiled, a genuine smile full of affection and awe and hurt and tiredness. Enjolras felt the odd swooping sensation in his stomach again, and swallowed uncomfortably. _This boy is under my skin._

Trying to ignore the feeling to which he was unaccustomed, he asked Grantaire a question that had been lingering in his mind since they had met. “How old are you?”

“23 next month.”

Enjolras raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise. “Seriously? I thought you were my age at most, you looked so young when you were dancing with Eponine – you’re in your last year at University?”

“Yup. Third year Art student. Just got to submit my final piece, and I’m done. You?”

Enjolras felt suddenly vulnerable. “I’m 18, this is my first year, I’m studying Politics.”

“Of course you are.” Grantaire’s expression was mostly inscrutable, but Enjolras thought he could detect a hint of amusement in his eyes. Suddenly, Grantaire leaned forwards, reaching out and plucking Enjolras’s phone out of his hand. “Hey, what are –”

“Relax, I’m just giving you my number. It’s not like you were ever going to ask for it.” He tapped away at the screen for a few seconds, then handed the phone back to its owner, his fingers brushing the top of Enjolras’s hand as he did so. Fortunately – _or perhaps unfortunately_ , murmured a small rebellious voice in Enjolras's brain – he missed the shudder this elicited, having thrown his head back to down the rest of his drink. Putting the empty bottle back down on the counter with a loud _clunk_ , he turned to Enjolras and spoke, his words bluntly honest. “I’m gonna head back now, Eponine’s having sex with someone I don’t particularly trust and I want to make sure everything’s ok.”

And there was nothing Enjolras could really say to that, so he watched Grantaire leave with tumultuous emotions waging war in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this isn't particularly funny, I apologise for that. I hope it's still readable!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is DRAMA.

**Grantaire**

They fell into a tentative rhythm over the next few weeks. Every Thursday, Grantaire’s phone would buzz with a text from Enjolras informing him when the next meeting would be. Then, usually on Saturday or Sunday, Grantaire would make his way to the Musain, where he would spend the next few hours getting progressively drunker and interrupting Enjolras’s speeches with muttered jokes or vociferous arguments.

By the end of the fourth week, Grantaire was getting frustrated. Enjolras seemed unwilling to communicate with him outside of his weekly scheduled text; after the meetings, he would usually pack his things away quickly and then leave, claiming prior engagements. _He was a terrible liar._ Once or twice, Grantaire had caved midweek and, under the influence of vodka and Eponine, sent Enjolras a drunken text enquiring about his health (and on one occasion, thanks to Eponine wrestling the phone out of his hands, asking what colour pants he had on and _are they decorated with tiny French flags because I hear you like revolution_ ), but these either went unanswered or received noncommittal, one-word replies.

And yet, Grantaire was sure – or, as sure as the cynic was capable of being, at least – that the other man was attracted to him. Sometimes, Enjolras’s eyes lingered for slightly too long when they met Grantaire’s own, a blush reddening his high cheekbones when he was caught staring. Other times, their arguments were so impassioned that they may as well have been the only ones left in the room, the tension building between them until all Grantaire wanted to do was bend Enjolras over the stupid wooden table and fuck him until his words fell apart, turning into incoherent moans and whimpers as Grantaire’s cock slammed into him over and over, and Grantaire could have sworn that he saw his own desire reflected back at him, shining in Enjolras’s intense blue eyes.

Which was why, when Courfeyrac stopped him after the next meeting with a twinkle in his eye to announce he was throwing a party that evening at the flat he shared with Enjolras, and would very much like for him to attend, Grantaire jumped at the chance. _Maybe in a more informal setting, he could talk privately with Enjolras – perhaps in his bedroom – and work out what the hell was going on between them._  With this thought occupying his brain and provoking several detailed dirty fantasies about exactly what he’d like to do to Enjolras in the privacy of his bedroom, it was unsurprising that he almost didn’t hear Courfeyrac calling after him as he left: “Bring your friend too, Enjolras might actually die if we can get her to dance on his desk!”

Eponine, after ascertaining that Marius would indeed be at this party, couldn’t have been any more eager to go, so at 9pm that night, they found themselves standing nervously outside the address Courfeyrac had given Grantaire, waiting for somebody to open the front door. After a minute or two, it swung open, revealing one of Enjolras’s friends – Joly, Grantaire thought – with a vaguely familiar statuesque brunette clinging to his shoulder. She smiled warmly at Grantaire and Eponine, ushering them into the room and drawing them both into her bosom with a surprisingly strong grip, before introducing herself with an accented voice that dripped like honey. “I’m Musichetta, Joly’s girlfriend. Make yourselves comfortable, everyone else has.”

Stepping forward and casting an eye over the living room, Grantaire saw the truth in her words. Marius was reclining on the floor, engaged in deep conversation with a curvaceous blonde girl Grantaire didn’t recognise, waving his hands around excitedly and looking a little bit like a deranged Kermit the Frog on acid. Feuilly was lying on the sofa, his feet on Bahorel’s lap, looking annoyed at the larger man’s continual movements; from what Grantaire could see, it looked as though he was demonstrating the correct way to flick and swish if one wanted to achieve a perfect Wingardium Leviosa. Bossuet was sitting by himself in an armchair, nursing a half-empty bottle of tequila and staring longingly in Joly’s direction. Jehan, ever-sympathetic, was perched on a footstool next to him, wearing a sweater with a large Bulbasaur on the front and patting Bossuet’s knee consolingly. Combeferre, who usually looked at least half-sensible, was ignoring the noise around him and frowning furiously at a pile of books on the coffee table, while attempting to jot down notes on the thigh of his jeans. He hadn’t yet noticed that a large heap of his notes was being slowly drenched by tequila dripping from the bottle Bossuet had evidently forgotten about.

The only ones missing were Enjolras and Courfeyrac. Leaving Eponine to go and interrupt Marius’s conversation, which he appeared to be enjoying _far_ too much for her liking, Grantaire moved forwards and peered through the door to his left. With a jolt of warmth spreading through his stomach, he spotted Enjolras, sitting at the kitchen counter and doing what appeared to be homework. Grantaire had to laugh at his dedication, the sound carrying into the room and making Enjolras look round to the door. “Oh, hey, Grantaire.” He looked stressed. “I didn’t realise you were coming tonight.”

Grantaire’s mood dipped slightly at the blankness of Enjolras’s tone. “Good to see you too, Apollo. And yes, Courfeyrac invited me.” He was struck by a sudden jolt of insecurity. “Um, that’s ok, right? I mean, it’s not a problem, me being here –”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow curiously. “No, not at all. I was just surprised.”

“Good.” Regaining his poise, Grantaire smirked at the younger man, indicating the books open in front of him. “Are you actually doing homework at a party?”

“It’s not my party, and I didn’t particularly want to leave my own flat just so that I could work in peace.” His voice was cool.

Grantaire felt something wrench at his insides, just for a second. “There’s more to life than work, you know,” he said quietly. “Some of your friends might actually want to spend time with you.”

Enjolras snorted in harsh amusement. “I’m doing work for Les Amis, there is nothing more important to me than the cause. And besides, I see my friends all the time anyway, my absence isn’t going to kill them.”

Grantaire recoiled, feeling like he had been slapped in the face. _That was about as blunt as rejections get_. With a quiet “Fair enough, then” he lowered his gaze and walked around Enjolras, heading for the door behind him, not caring where it took him but not wanting to go back into the crowded living room. He found himself in a small corridor, and leaned against the wall, letting his head drop back against it with a quiet thunk. _He doesn’t want you. You heard him. Nothing could ever be more important to him than the cause… Not even you, and you were foolish to ever think otherwise._

God, he wanted a drink. He stared down at his hands, feeling rebellious tears rise in his throat.

“Are you ok?”

He glanced up with a start. Courfeyrac was standing to his left, at the entrance of what Grantaire assumed was his bedroom. “I thought I heard someone outside, what’s up?”

Grantaire shook his head wordlessly. He met Courfeyrac’s eyes, the friendliness and flirtatious interest that characterised the other man’s gaze causing something small, something forgotten to stir within his chest. Straightening up, he moved swiftly, one hand fisting in Courfeyrac’s shirt and the other grabbing his hair to pull them together in a hard kiss. He felt the other man’s mouth open in surprise and pushed harder, his tongue slipping out to roughly brush against Courfeyrac’s lower lip and his fingers tightening in his hair. All of a sudden, Courfeyrac grunted and started kissing back with fervour, pulling Grantaire backwards into his bedroom and shutting the door behind them.

They broke apart, briefly; Grantaire caught sight of the confusion written on the other man’s face and sighed, quickly, impatiently. “This is nothing, it means nothing. I just need –” and he gestured wordlessly at the space between them to indicate closeness, intimacy. Courfeyrac’s warmth, his solidity, came as such a relief after Enjolras’s glacial attitude to him that he almost sobbed aloud, the other man seeming to sense the desperation in his posture and pulling him forwards, bringing their lips together once again. Their chests collided; Grantaire, needing to feel the heat of someone’s body against his, reached up blindly, breaking the kiss to haul Courfeyrac’s T-shirt up and over his head. The other man reciprocated swiftly, unbuttoning Grantaire’s shirt and sliding his hands around the taller man’s waist, making him gasp with a combination of emotion and lust. Then they were kissing again, passionately, their hands roving over chests and stomachs and backs, and if Grantaire could feel Courfeyrac’s erection pressing into his thigh then Courfeyrac could _definitely_ feel his digging into his hip, and they writhed together, desperate and wanting –

The door opened. “Courf, have you seen –”

Silence.

Grantaire pulled away from Courfeyrac, quickly, turning towards the door. Enjolras stood in the entrance, his hand gripping tightly to the doorframe, Jehan standing slightly behind him. They all stopped, frozen, for a couple of seconds, until Jehan moved, breaking the spell. With a harsh sob, he turned and fled back down the corridor, his usual effortless grace deserting him. Courfeyrac paused for a moment as if uncertain about what to do, then grabbed his abandoned T-shirt and pulled it on hastily before rushing out of the room after the poet. Grantaire, still out of breath and shirtless, collapsed onto the chair behind him and rubbed his face, trying to look less debauched, then raised his eyes to look at Enjolras.

 _His beautiful Enjolras_ , who was still standing as if frozen in place, staring straight ahead, his back rigid and an expression of indescribable hurt on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaangst I'm so sorry. But I will make it better soon.
> 
> also look at this updating speed omg it's like I don't even have a life and a million essays to write *dies*


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is angst, and a declaration of love.

**Enjolras**

Enjolras knew this party was going to be a bad idea. Hence why he’d said no when Courfeyrac had asked him whether they could have one. _Good to know he respects my wishes._

He just didn’t cope well with big gatherings of drunken people, even if they _were_ his friends, especially when he had exams coming up. So, true to form, he’d barricaded himself into the kitchen after issuing cursory greetings (as his bedroom had been declared out of bounds by Jehan, who had commandeered it, wanting to show people the Nyan Cat video on Enjolras’s computer) and got lost in his work, trying his best to ignore the sounds of merriment emanating from the living room and occasionally mumbling under his breath about _people having fun_ in a tone that suggested they were skinning live bunny rabbits to entertain themselves.

After an hour or so he sighed, letting his head drop to the kitchen counter and stifling a yawn. He had been particularly grumpy lately, even by his standards, and he knew it. Grantaire had managed to light something in Enjolras, something that had been dormant for a very long time, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Enjolras was a passionate man, everybody knew this, but chaste when it came to affairs of the heart and not the mind. After the first meeting Grantaire had attended, Enjolras had briefly allowed himself to dream, wondering what it would be like if he let Grantaire in, wondering what it would feel like to touch him and kiss the cynical words from his lips. But he knew, deep down, that to do that, he’d have to split his attention between his love and his work, and did he really want to dedicate his time to someone who spent most of _his_ time drunk? It was only attraction, he reasoned, that had drawn him to the other man, and that could be ignored. It was a trivial thing, really, just a chemical impulse. It would serve nothing, in the end, for the greater good.

And if Enjolras found himself, late at night, pumping his cock with images of the dark-haired man fresh in his mind, well, he was only human. Some things couldn’t be helped.

But his decision to ignore his feelings did not stop his heart from beating harder when Grantaire was around, didn’t stop him from stumbling over his words and blushing like a teenager whenever they came face to face. He could cope with the attraction, on his part, but the awe, the reverence he glimpsed on Grantaire’s face when he looked at him was a struggle to resist. He couldn’t stop himself from imagining how Grantaire would look on his knees in front of him, naked and hard, taking the full length of Enjolras’s pulsing cock into his mouth, worshipping it…

Enjolras groaned and reached a hand into his jeans to rearrange himself, feeling annoyed at the distinctly sexual thoughts that had been ruling his brain as of late. Getting a hard-on in the kitchen, hidden behind a stack of books on economic policies, _really smooth_. He could only imagine the comments Courfeyrac would make if he knew.

This was the state he found himself in when Grantaire announced his arrival into the room with a soft laugh. Enjolras resisted the urge to flail out of his chair and hide under the counter, half-convinced that Grantaire could read his mind and see the impure thoughts he had been entertaining, before coming to his senses and affecting a cool nonchalance.

He had been overly curt with Grantaire, he knew. After the other man had left the room, he had been tempted to follow after him and apologise. He had been halfway out of his seat before realising that perhaps, pushing Grantaire away would be the better option. Perhaps, that way he could dedicate himself to his work without feeling tempted by the other man’s proximity and undeniable affection for him. He secretly hoped that Grantaire wouldn’t stop coming to the meetings, though. He couldn’t deny the pleasure he felt on seeing him there every week, seated on the bench in between Feuilly and Courfeyrac. _It is helpful having him there. His constant dissent challenges my arguments and helps me refine my views, that is all._

He tried to reabsorb himself in his work, but was interrupted only minutes later by Jehan, who waltzed in to the kitchen with an air of feigned casualness that could rival Enjolras's own. “Seen Courfeyrac?”

“Um, no. In his room, probably.” Actually, now he came to think of it, Grantaire had been headed that way too, and was unfamiliar with the layout of the house. Enjolras frowned, contemplative, feeling that he should probably go and find him before he got lost. _Yeah, right. Lost in a small three-bedroom apartment. It was a poor excuse and he knew it._

He rose from his chair and left the room, Jehan close on his heels. As they reached Courfeyrac’s door, Enjolras lifted his hand to knock, but hesitated, the unfamiliar noises from within making an instinctive unease form in his stomach. Half knowing what he would find within the room, he dropped his hand, prompting Jehan to raise a curious eyebrow at him, before turning the handle and pushing the door open unannounced.

Regardless of his suspicions, he was unprepared for the sight that greeted him. Grantaire and Courfeyrac together, both in states of considerable undress, their hands roaming over each other’s bodies, small moans and animal whimpers emanating from their throats, their mouths open and kissing ferociously. _It would have been hot if it wasn’t so devastating._ Enjolras watched them break apart in a state of dull shock. He was vaguely aware of Jehan’s upset gasp, but couldn’t do anything to comfort the smaller man; he felt as though the only thing rooting him upright was his fierce grip on the doorframe. Courfeyrac shot past him, his expression guilty, and Enjolras was left staring at Grantaire.

It felt like he had been stabbed in the heart. A small part of his brain laughed at him for coming up with such a lame teenage-girl analogy, but it was the only way he could even begin to describe the hurt – _the betrayal_ – coursing through his veins. And then Grantaire was looking up at him, his expression guilty, and Enjolras just _couldn’t_ anymore. “Don’t.”

His voice sounded strangled even to his own ears. He let go of the door shakily, and turned his back on Grantaire, walking back to his bedroom on heavy feet. Reaching his room, he entered, shutting the door behind him, and collapsed numbly onto his bed, his thoughts jumbled.

**Jehan and Courfeyrac**

The poet ran, hating himself for getting so involved with the stupid, oblivious _boy_ who could hurt him so much without even a second thought, and hating himself even more for being surprised when it happened.

He darted outside, ignoring his friends’ concerned enquiries, only stopping when he reached the garden gate. He sat down, slowly, still sniffling, and reached out to pluck the daisies flowering in the soft grass, his nimble fingers working almost unconsciously.

Hearing the front door shut with a sharp _click_ , he ran his fingers through his long hair, pulling it out from behind his ear and using it to shield his face. “Courf, just go away.”

“Jehan, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Jehan sighed softly. _At least I’m not crying anymore, I’ve embarrassed myself enough as it is._ “My fault.”

“What? Jehan, how on earth is this your fault?”

“I never told you how I felt.”

“Well, no, but – Jehan, I’m just sorry, ok. It was a stupid mistake and I didn’t mean –”

“Just stop talking about it, please.” His voice was harsh, ragged with pain, but right at that moment he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. His brain kept replaying the images, over and over, Courfeyrac kissing Grantaire like he was a dying man and Grantaire was oxygen, his hands – _Jehan’s fucking hands, goddammit_ – clasping at the other man’s hips. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Courfeyrac with other people, but it was the first time since they’d been sleeping together and the first time it had cut him so deeply. _Just screwing, that’s all we were ever doing._

He heard Courfeyrac’s exhalation, then saw him approaching out of the corner of his eye. Courfeyrac dropped down next to him inelegantly, his hand tentatively reaching around to grab Jehan’s shoulder and pull him closer, into the warmth of his own body. Jehan inhaled shakily, the scent of Courfeyrac making his throat ache with want.

Courfeyrac paused, searching for the right words, then spoke. “Jehan, it’s not that I don’t like you like that, because I do, I mean, you’re perfect with your flowers and your poetry and your _smile_ , it’s just.” Sigh. “I don’t _do_ relationships. I _can’t_. I’d screw things up, and I know it’s stupid because I’ve already hurt you but I just couldn’t live with myself if I fucked things up _so much_ that we couldn’t even be friends anymore.”

Jehan felt numb. He squeezed his eyes shut, a solitary tear managing to escape anyway, and managed a brusque nod. “I understand, Courfeyrac. I’m ok. Really.” _He didn’t know which one of them he was trying to convince most._

Courfeyrac spoke again, and at the sound of his voice Jehan had to pull away and look up, because it sounded like he was crying too, and he _was_ , and Jehan’s heart nearly stopped at the sight. Courfeyrac never cried, it was almost a law of the universe that he just _had_ to be happy, whatever happened. “I’m so, so sorry, Jehan. It’s been great though, it’s been really, really amazing, _you_ are amazing…”

Jehan couldn’t listen anymore, each of Courfeyrac's words tearing away at the very fabric of his existence, cutting deep like a knife. “Please, Courf, can you just leave me alone for a while?” It was said softly, with no malice, and Courfeyrac understood what was needed. Pulling the smaller boy to him as if he never wanted to let go, he held him tight for a couple of seconds, dropping a gentle kiss to the top of his head before releasing him and standing up with a hard sniff.

Jehan watched him leave, and felt like his world was ending.

-ooo-

Courfeyrac walked back inside, every step he took away from Jehan making him feel like the biggest douche in the world. He shut the front door, which automatically locked behind him, and shuffled to his bedroom, memories of the event that had led to Jehan’s heartbreak running through his mind to torment him. Sending silent thanks to all the gods he could think of that his room was now, blissfully, empty, he flopped down on his bed, groaning in annoyance when his phone started vibrating inches away from his head. He reached for it, meaning to throw it across the room for daring to interrupt his self-flagellation, but sitting up in consternation when he saw Jehan’s name illuminated on the screen. He hit the answer button immediately, bringing the phone to his ear.

“Jehan?”

“It is not ok, Courf, you _dick_!”

He blinked in surprise, his mouth falling open, but before he could get any words out Jehan was continuing his pissed-off tirade, shouting in his ear.

“You can’t just fuck someone for months and then refuse to go out with them because you might destroy your friendship! Because that’s _already done_ , Courf, seriously, do you think we can just go back to being fine after this? You need to remove whatever stick is lodged up your ass, because you love me, I know you do, _you never cry Courfeyrac and I am not letting you go and waste whatever this is just because you’re afraid to commit_.” The last sentence was said all in one breath, manically, and Courfeyrac felt the beginnings of a helpless smile spread across his face. “Jehan, I –”

“No you _fucking don’t_. I love you, Courfeyrac, I love you so much I could write odes to your face or your hair or your eyes, or that little spot just under your belly button that makes you squirm, and _I know you_ , and we would be amazing together, so don’t you dare.”

“I love you too.”

That did it. After that, all Courfeyrac could hear for a moment was Jehan’s laboured breathing. Then: “So – Does that mean…?”

Courfeyrac stopped, pressed his forehead against the cool surface of his bedroom wall, and took a steady breath. Throwing all caution to the wind, he tentatively spoke. “Yes.”

For a brief minute, complete silence reigned over the line. Courfeyrac felt his stomach drop unpleasantly, and tensed apprehensively, waiting for Jehan to speak. When he did, prompting Courfeyrac's heart to beat frantically in his chest, his smile was obvious in his voice. “Um, could you come and let me in then? I left my keys in my coat, and it’s getting kind of cold out here.”

Courfeyrac grinned, relieved, and walked to the front door, unlocking it and pulling it open to reveal a teeny tiny poet on the doorstep, with beautiful eyes and a beautiful smile and the most beautiful heart Courfeyrac had ever known. They both hung up at the same time, beaming sheepishly (and a little bit tearfully) at each other. Jehan stepped forwards, into Courfeyrac’s waiting arms, but avoided his embrace for a minute in order to grab him by the hand and fasten the newly-made daisy chain around his wrist with a quiet but triumphant "There." Courfeyrac smiled down at his beloved, then, taking him by the hand and interlacing their fingers, pulled him through the door and slammed it shut behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Grantaire and Enjolras are still being silly boys (this will soon change do not worry), but I bring you Jehan and Courf feels to make up for it. I hope the switch to alternate pov's isn't too annoying.
> 
> COMMENTS ARE LIKE OXYGEN TO ME so please feel free to give feedback of any kind. <3
> 
> (I have also been through all the previous chapters and nitpicked, so if anyone spots any errors I've missed it would be great if you could point them out to me!)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the ships become a fleet.

**Grantaire**

_Well, that didn’t go particularly well_ , Grantaire thought ruefully, running his fingers through his perpetually tangled hair, trying to tease out the knots inflicted by Courfeyrac’s wandering hands. He was stalling and he knew it; Enjolras’s reaction as he left the room had cut him to the bone, but at the same time he couldn’t quite believe that he was solely at fault for the incident, and he couldn’t deny that the unmistakeably genuine hurt on Enjolras’s face had caused something small and hopeful to stir deep within his chest. 

Sighing, he stood up, hoping against hope he hadn’t caused a rift in the friendship group with which he was only marginally associated. If things went wrong between Courfeyrac and Jehan after this – _not that I knew there had been anything between them to mess up_ , he thought defensively – he would undoubtedly have to step back and stop coming to the meetings, thus effectively ruining any chance he may have had with Enjolras. _Although I may have already ruined that. What if he doesn’t want to speak to me again?_

 _Only one way to find out_. Bracing himself, he left Courfeyrac’s bedroom and wandered down the corridor. Out of the three doors he could see along it, only one was closed, and he could see a dim light emanating from beneath it; taking his chances, he approached and rapped softly on the door with the backs of his knuckles. A pause, then: “Yes?”

Grantaire felt hope bloom in his chest; it was definitely Enjolras’s voice and he didn’t sound like he was about to scratch anyone’s eyeballs out. Hoping his luck would still stand, he pushed the door open and stuck his head in, not quite daring to walk over the threshold and fully into the room. “Can I come in?”

There was a short silence. Enjolras was sitting at his desk, his brow furrowed as he methodically polished the glasses he occasionally wore for reading. “If you want.”

Grantaire exhaled, his body deflating with relief. Gliding into the room, he shut the door gently behind him and immediately dropped to his knees in front of Enjolras’s chair, lowering his head. Enjolras’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What are you –”

Grantaire spoke, quickly and sincerely, interrupting him. “I’m really sorry for kissing Courfeyrac, and I’m really sorry that you had to see it, it was just stupid. _I_ am stupid. If you want me to go away and never come back then I will, but I just want you to know that I really like you – all of you – and I don’t usually like people, so that’s saying something, and if you could find it in yourself to forgive me I would be grateful _for the rest of my life_.” He peered earnestly up at Enjolras through his long eyelashes, a pleading look in his big blue eyes.

Enjolras was taken aback, glancing down at the man kneeling at his feet and shaking his head with an air of bemused helplessness. “You don’t have to demand my forgiveness, Grantaire. What you do, who you kiss, is none of my business. I believe that every individual should have the liberty to be with whomever they choose, as long as it’s consensual, it would be hypocritical of me to refuse to extend you the same courtesy. You are not accountable to me.” His tone was neutral but Grantaire noticed that he avoided meeting his eye, staring instead at his hands, which were twined together in his lap.

“I can’t not be sorry for hurting you, Enjolras. And it wasn’t nice, what I did, not to you or Courfeyrac or anyone.” He took a deep breath, clenching his hands together to stop them shaking, then, slowly, raised them up and placed them gently over Enjolras’s knees, feeling the blond man’s muscles tense involuntarily under his grip. “I… kissed Courf, because I wanted to kiss you, but I thought you didn’t want me. Fuck, I still don’t know what you want.” Grantaire felt vulnerable, exposed, his head bowed in front of Enjolras, his hands clutching on to the other man’s legs in a silent plea for acceptance.

Enjolras swallowed perceptibly. When he spoke, his voice was almost a whisper, and sounded sad. “I don’t know what I want, either.” He drew in a ragged breath. “But it hurt to see you with someone else. I – I don’t know, Grantaire, maybe…” He trailed off. Grantaire knelt, silently, not daring to look up, until he felt Enjolras’s hands press firmly down onto his own.

He glanced up at Enjolras, his heart hammering in his chest. Enjolras’s fingers covered his own, his thumbs moving in tiny circles over the spot on Grantaire’s wrist where his pulse was pounding out a rapid beat. Enjolras stared back, something dark and unfathomable in his eyes, and when he spoke, seconds or minutes or weeks later, his voice was strong and commanding. “Kiss me.”

Grantaire started. _Had he heard that right?_ His eyes desperately searched the other man’s countenance, looking for any trace of doubt, but saw nothing but calm resolution written there. Grantaire leaned forwards hesitantly, his hands remaining tight on Enjolras’s lower thighs. As he drew closer, he paused, taking a moment to simply appreciate the beauty of his Apollo’s face; his blue eyes were piercing, his stare intent, his lips slightly parted in anticipation. All of a sudden, the full meaning of what Enjolras had said hit him; surging forwards, his lips opened and pressed against Enjolras’s own. The kiss that began hesitantly, both partners unsure of how to proceed, until Enjolras moaned softly into Grantaire's mouth and deepened their embrace, which rapidly grew more intense.

What Grantaire had imagined, late at night in the privacy of his own room, was nothing compared to the reality. Enjolras’s mouth was soft but forceful, his tongue pushing eagerly into Grantaire’s mouth, teeth nipping at his lower lip. With a surprised growl, Grantaire pushed back, harder, one hand kneading Enjolras’s thigh while the other moved up to entangle itself in his soft golden curls – _finally_ – and tug softly, prompting a hoarse moan to slip from the other man’s throat. Enjolras’s hands moved from his sides to Grantaire’s back, then slid downwards until he was gripping Grantaire’s ass, pulling him closer until the taller man’s body was nearly covering his own. They kissed fiercely, hungrily, for several minutes, until Grantaire suddenly removed his right hand from the blond man’s curls, using it to brace himself against the desk so as not to crush his partner with the full extent of his weight, and pulled back, his breathing ragged and his eyes ablaze with desire.

Enjolras looked ridiculously good, leaning back in his chair, his eyes glazed with arousal and his blond hair tangled, falling into his face, his chest heaving with lust and a distinct bulge pressing against the zipper of his _~~stupidly tight~~_ outrageously sexy jeans. Grantaire wanted nothing more than to haul the smaller man up and then shove him back down onto the bed before tearing off his clothes and embedding his cock – which, by now, was almost painfully hard, throbbing against the rough material of his pants – in Enjolras’s beautiful mouth, or his ass, but he didn’t want to overwhelm him by moving too quickly and _that would probably do it_. He forced himself to pull away and stand up, breathing heavily, and rubbed his hand across his face in a vague attempt to regain his composure. Enjolras straightened up too, mimicking him, and sighed softly, a weary expression descending over his features. “We should probably talk.”

-ooo-

**Eponine**

Eponine was _pissed off_. She had come to this party expecting to get some time alone with Marius, or, failing that, at least the chance to get pleasantly drunk with a group of amiable people. No such luck. By 11 o’clock, the living room was almost empty. Eponine was alone in an armchair, counting her arm hairs, Feuilly and Bahorel had passed out on the sofa, the former’s head resting comfortably in the latter’s lap, both snoring softly, and Combeferre was still working on the floor, seemingly oblivious to everything around him. Eponine shook her head in disbelief: _that boy has serious issues_.

Marius and the blonde girl, whose name Eponine had learned – _and then mimicked childishly in a stupid voice in her head for the best part of the evening_ – was Cosette, had vanished hours ago, apparently to go for a walk. _So they were probably enjoying a furious shag in some poor sod’s rhododendron right about now_. There was no debate about Courfeyrac and Jehan, whose moans were audible across the house; at the peak of her boredom, she had spent a good ten minutes harmonising with them in a high-pitched falsetto. Grantaire and Enjolras were nowhere to be seen either, so she assumed that her best friend had finally got his wish and they were also having incredible sex somewhere. God knows what Bossuet was up to; Eponine had been enjoying a pleasant conversation with him half an hour or so before, but Joly and Musichetta had finally taken pity on him and his lovelorn gazes and taken him by the hand, leading him off to Joly’s bedroom with naughty smirks and quietly murmured sentences. Basically, everyone was having sex but her. Judging by the position Feuilly and Bahorel were in, sprawled across the sofa, she wouldn’t have been surprised to find out they were fucking in their spare time too.

She was so absorbed in her bitterness that she didn’t notice Combeferre approaching until he was standing above her, next to the armchair. He glanced down at her, taking his glasses off with one hand to polish them before placing them back on his face, and spoke. “Would you like me to walk you home?”

He had a kindly face, Eponine decided, _and nice eyes, behind those terrible glasses_. She thought about it for a second, then shrugged. “May as well, it’s not like Grantaire is going to.” The last comment was made with a pointed glare in the vague direction of Enjolras’s bedroom, as if she expected her friend to somehow sense her displeasure. _She hoped his boner wilted and fell off_.

Hopping out of the chair, she beamed at Combeferre and reached her arm out, hooking it around his elbow. He looked surprised, his eyebrows quirking up until they almost vanished into his sandy hair. “Well, if you’re going to escort me home, you may as well do it _properly_.”

He grinned back at her, with _adorable_ dimples, and Eponine’s heart started to beat just a little bit faster.

She refused to let go of his arm, even while they were still in the house, insisting through giggles that Combeferre should be a _proper gentleman_ , which led to some interesting navigational decisions around various items of furniture. Eventually they made it to the door, and after a short scuffle, managed to unlock it and go outside. Their laughter gradually trailed off as it became easier to walk arm in arm, and they wandered down the road in an amiable silence.

After a minute or so, Eponine turned to Combeferre with a smirk. “Don’t you just hate your friends sometimes?”

His expression became one of mock-seriousness as he answered. “Oh, God, you have no idea. They can be spectacularly incompetent at _living_.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Even Enjolras? He always seems pretty sensible, considering.”

Combeferre snorted in dry amusement. “Especially Enjolras. He likes to hide away in his work so he can pretend he doesn’t actually have feelings like a normal human being. If you call him up on it he gets really embarrassed, it’s _but the cause_ this and _the people need my help_ that. You should try it sometime, it’s great fun.”

Eponine laughed at his impressions of Enjolras’s defensive tone. She realised with a jolt that she hadn’t felt this comfortable around a stranger since she’d first met Grantaire, at the age of six, and almost imperceptibly tightened her grip on his arm. They passed the rest of the fifteen-minute journey sociably chatting, occasionally lapsing into short bouts of companionable silence. When they reached her front door, she withdrew her arm and turned to him with a genuine smile. “Thanks for walking me back. It was nice.”

He smiled softly back, his gentle brown eyes meeting hers. “Any time, it’s no problem.”

She opened the door and went inside, turning to wave at him before shutting the door behind her and locking it securely. As she headed off to bed, she caught sight of herself in the mirror, a faint flush upon her cheeks and an irrepressible smile on her face, and thought that _just maybe_ , the party hadn’t turned out so bad after all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is smut.

**Enjolras**

“You’re still a virgin?”

Enjolras nodded, unashamed. “I never really saw the point in messing around with people I didn’t particularly care about just to fit in with everyone else. Besides, virginity is a stupid, patriarchal concept, I don't think we should be defining people based on their number of sexual partners.”

Grantaire cocked his head to the side, considering. They were both lying on Enjolras’s bed; Enjolras was leaning up against the wall, his legs crossed, and Grantaire was sprawled haphazardly over the blond man’s pillows – having ignored the small wince Enjolras had made when Grantaire had messed up his perfectly ordered bedding – idly drawing patterns on Enjolras’s exposed ankle with his long artist’s fingers. “Have you ever been tempted to, you know, have sex?”

Enjolras shrugged. “Occasionally. Never overwhelmingly so.”

“What’s different about me?” Grantaire looked intrigued, his fingers pausing for a second as he glanced up at the other man.

“Everything. Everything about you is different. You’re not afraid to challenge me – which is incredibly infuriating, by the way, seriously _you don’t have to do it all the time_ – but I like it, too. It makes me feel fallible.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“Yes, unquestionably. It brings me down to earth.” Enjolras broke off for a second, feeling slightly embarrassed. “It’s hard, occasionally, not to be arrogant, when everyone acts as though you’re untouchable. I can’t allow myself to feel superior when I try to live by the tenet that everyone is fundamentally equal and therefore deserving of the same respect.”

Grantaire quirked his lips up in a small, hard smile. “I can’t pretend to know what that’s like. People generally treat me like I’m not even deserving of their attention.”

Enjolras frowned, and reached out tentatively with his left hand, drawing it slowly through Grantaire’s dark curls. The other man’s eyes fluttered shut, a low rumble of pleasure emanating from his chest, igniting a small flame of desire in the pit of Enjolras’s stomach and sending small jolts of electricity straight to his groin. _This was decidedly not the time_. “I don’t make you feel like that, do I?”

Grantaire smiled sweetly, sincerely. “Just one minute of your attention makes me feel I could stand among the gods on Mount Olympus and not be deemed unworthy of their presence.”

Enjolras sighed softly, feeling that there was something terribly _wrong_ about that, that he could claim so much power over the other man’s self-image, but not quite able to verbalise the feeling, not when Grantaire was looking up at him with that beautiful, self-deprecating smile and his huge soulful blue eyes. Instead, he merely tightened his grip in Grantaire’s hair, pulling slightly and enjoying the look of intense arousal that flashed through _those fucking eyes why are they even allowed._

Grantaire made a noise of pleasure deep in his throat and turned towards Enjolras to burrow his head against his knee. When he spoke, his voice was husky. “So, no-one’s even touched you before?”

Enjolras unfolded his legs, permitting Grantaire to draw closer and rest his head in his lap. “Before you, no.”

He could have sworn he heard Grantaire growl. He _definitely_ saw him reach down and slip a hand under the waistband of his boxers to adjust himself. “You have no idea how much that turns me on, knowing that you’ll give me the privilege of being the first to fuck you.” There was a slightly possessive note in his voice that Enjolras thought he probably shouldn’t like, but how couldn’t he when it was making his cock throb harder in his jeans? _Alright, that was enough._

Taking a deep breath, he pushed Grantaire’s head off his lap and breathed in deeply, trying to regain some semblance of composure. _In, out. In, out_. “I want to wait, though. I don’t want to rush into… doing stuff, because we’ll screw things up. I want to wait until it feels _right_.”

Grantaire sat up, the remnants of arousal still visible in the faint blush on his face – _and in the prominent bulge in his trousers, Enjolras noticed_ – but a serious look in his eyes. “That’s fine, Apollo, I’m not going to push you into anything you’re not ready for. Just – let me know when you’re ready. I’ll be waiting.”

Enjolras exhaled, an undeniable feeling of relief settling in his chest. It was strange, he realised, how he spent hours upon hours talking about how everyone had the right to refuse sexual advances if they weren’t ready, but the mere thought of Grantaire being disappointed in him made him feel like crawling under a rock. _Hmmph, not a great development, all things considered._ Shrugging off the unwelcome thought, he allowed himself to sit back on the bed and curled up next to Grantaire, enjoying the feel of the other man’s warmth. “Do you think we could just go to sleep? I mean, um. If you want to stay, of course. It’s late, I’m kind of – _mmmph!_ ”

Grantaire had surged forwards, a broad smile on his face, and pressed his lips firmly against Enjolras’s, in a kiss that could almost have been described as chaste had Grantaire not taken the opportunity to briefly swipe his tongue across the younger man’s lower lip. “I’d love to.” Drawing back, he pulled off his shirt, briefly pausing to glance at Enjolras as if checking it was ok, then dropped it on the floor next to him. His jeans quickly followed suit. Fortunately – or unfortunately, as the small, incredibly horny part of Enjolras’s brain insisted on telling him – his boxers stayed on. Still, Enjolras enjoyed the chance to properly appreciate Grantaire’s body for the first time, without the stupid and wholly unnecessary barrier of clothing.

His shoulders were broad, much broader than Enjolras’s own, and nicely muscled. His chest was firm and tapered down into a narrow waist, the sharp curve of his hip bones protruding from his black boxers, which moulded to his form as if they had been painted on. He was thin – _perhaps a little too thin_ – and his legs were long and shapely. Enjolras swallowed, his mouth feeling suddenly dry, as his eyes inevitably found their way to the considerable bulge in Grantaire’s underwear. Slightly embarrassingly, his gaze didn’t escape Grantaire’s notice, and he smirked, stretching out languorously on the bed and running his hands down his body temptingly.

“Stop it.” Enjolras’s voice was curt but there was no real anger in his tone and they both knew it. Grantaire’s smirk softened into a proper smile and he dropped his hands, moving backwards on the bed to make room for Enjolras and pulling a blanket over himself. Enjolras swiftly removed his T-shirt and jeans, revealing smooth, tanned skin pulled taut over defined musculature and a narrow frame, self-consciously avoiding Grantaire’s eyes as he did so and therefore missing the openly awestruck look on the older man’s face. He turned off the light and climbed into bed, lying awkwardly on his back for a second before he felt one of Grantaire’s arms forcing its way under his head and the other coming over his stomach to pull him back until he was flush against the dark-haired man’s chest. Grantaire’s body radiated heat, his torso feeling warm and solid against Enjolras’s slender back, his arms resting across his sides and his fingers trailing delicate patterns over his stomach, as if mimicking the butterflies within. Enjolras smiled into the darkness, and shut his eyes, allowing the exhaustion that had been gradually building up over the past few weeks to overcome him and carry him off into sleep.

-ooo-

**Grantaire**

When Grantaire woke up, it was still dark, the only illumination in the room coming from the moon, shining brightly outside the window. He was still in the same position he’d fallen asleep in, one arm beneath Enjolras’s head and the other draped over his side, his hand pressed tight against Enjolras’s stomach, feeling it move in and out regularly with the motion of the other man’s calm, deep breathing. _He also had a raging erection._

Damn, he was frustrated. But his Apollo wanted to take things slowly, so take things slowly they would; the last thing he wanted to do was pressure the younger boy into doing anything he wasn’t ready for. _Because that would make him a massive, hateful douchebag_. So, with a baleful sigh, he moved his lower body away from Enjolras’s, hoping that his erection would subside now that it wasn’t pressed up against Enjolras’s – _warm, tight, stop it stop it stop it_ – ass. Which it might have done, had Enjolras not apparently sensed Grantaire’s absence and shot backwards, pushing his ass firmly against his crotch once again with a muffled, sleepy whimper and causing Grantaire to let out an involuntary moan of his own. _Of course he had to be a clingy sleeper_. Grantaire tried once more to gently disentangle himself, but again Enjolras followed. Grantaire’s resolve was weakening; he needed to get away, now, to relieve himself with a furious wank in the bathroom, or he was just going to rut against Enjolras’s backside until he came and _that would be so awkward to explain_. As he was frantically wondering what to do, his mounting arousal seeming to obliterate any capability for rational thought, he gradually realised that Enjolras was pressing against him again, slowly and deliberately. _Oh, he was SO not asleep_. He froze for a moment, confused and so, so unbelievably turned on, as Enjolras kept rocking against him, long and slow and hard, Grantaire’s cock pushed right up against the cleft of his ass with only two thin layers of cotton separating them. Coming to his senses, he moved his hand to Enjolras’s hip and squeezed tightly, hard enough to leave a set of tiny fingertip-shaped bruises, stilling him, and growled in his ear. “You’d better stop it now if you’re still set on _waiting till it feels right_.” Enjolras whimpered softly, trying in vain to push back but unable to move his hips, held fast by Grantaire’s strong grip, and mumbled quietly, “It feels pretty good right now.”

Grantaire stopped, his head swimming with lust, as he tried to untangle his confused thoughts. “Enjolras, are you sure? I don’t want you to –”

Enjolras cut him off, no longer murmuring, his voice louder and more assured. “Yes, I’m sure. But can we just touch, for now? Can I touch you?”

The earnest way he asked the question made the older man’s cock twitch, still trapped in place by his underwear. Exhaling sharply, he shot a brief smile in Enjolras’s direction. “My body is yours.”

Grantaire could sense Enjolras’s scowl, even in the darkness. “No it is not, that goes completely against _everything_ I believe about physical autonomy –”

“Enjolras, shut up, just touch me already.”

He obliged. Turning around to face Grantaire, Enjolras threw an arm around his neck, fingers twining in dark curls and _pulling, oh God_ , and kissed him fiercely, immediately sinking his teeth into Grantaire’s bottom lip and thrusting his tongue into his eager mouth. Loosening his hold on Grantaire’s hair, he let his hand slide down the other man’s body, fingernails scratching a rough trail over his chest and making him writhe, moaning brokenly into Enjolras’s mouth. He pinched a nipple, roughly, and Grantaire arched his back, breaking the kiss to draw breath; catching sight of Enjolras’s smirk, something flashed on the dark-haired man’s face and he dipped his head to bite sharply at the Apollo’s exposed neck, feeling the vibrations of the ragged moan it elicited under his teeth. All of a sudden, any remaining ability he had to move was completely eradicated, Enjolras’s warm hand having finally reached his cock and gripped it firmly around the base. Grantaire whimpered and thrust against Enjolras’s hand, his head falling back onto the pillow and sparks erupting behind his closed eyelids. “Enj, Enjolras – oh my God, _oh_ …”

“Is this ok?” Enjolras began slowly moving his hand over Grantaire’s cock, from the base to the head. Somewhere in Grantaire’s addled brain, the knowledge sunk in. _Teasing. He’s teasing me._

He didn’t care. _“Yes,_ please, Enjolras, _don’t stop_ – ah, _fuck_!”

Enjolras’s hand sped up, gradually, until Grantaire was almost sobbing with pleasure, writhing against the sheets, alternating between clutching at Enjolras’s shoulders and pulling him down to mouth roughly at his neck, enjoying the whines emanating from the blond man’s throat and only dimly realising they might have some explaining to do when Enjolras was covered in lovebites the next day. A minute or an eternity later, he was feeling the familiar tingle in the base of his stomach. “Enjolras, fuck, I’m gonna come –”

Enjolras tightened his grip, his eyes dark. “Yes, _come for me_ , Grantaire.” His words finally pushed Grantaire over the edge, and he came with a strangled shout so loud that it pretty much ensured they would be getting odd looks in the morning, pulsing hot semen all over Enjolras’s hand. As he came down from the orgasmic high, he heard Enjolras softly whisper “beautiful” into his ear, and smiled exhaustedly.

They lay there in companionable silence for a minute, then Enjolras turned to Grantaire with a questioning look. “Was that ok?”

Grantaire laughed in disbelief. “Fuck. Yes. That was amazing.” He noted with pleasure Enjolras’s proud look, then spoke again with a wicked grin. “And now I’m going to get my own back, you _fucking evil tease_.”

Enjolras’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth, but before he could say anything Grantaire was pushing him down onto the mattress and pinning him down with his weight, kissing him deeply and rocking against the erection he could feel digging into his stomach. Enjolras whimpered, his eyes going glassy as he writhed beneath Grantaire, bucking his hips up wildly. Grantaire smirked. “Now that’s more like it.”

“Grantaire, please, _just do something_.” His voice was raspy, desperate. Grantaire paused for a moment to enjoy the sight of Enjolras, driven out of his mind by lust, and he made a mental note to think of more ways to get the younger man to beg him for release. _Not now, though. He’s earned his reward._

Grasping onto Enjolras’s slim wrists and holding them together with one hand, Grantaire began to kiss his way down the other man’s chest, stopping briefly to bite softly at his nipples, and, further down, his hipbones; then he is examining the full length of Enjolras’s cock, proud like the rest of him, all elegant lines and tanned skin. He heard Enjolras whimper, somewhere above his head, and opened his mouth, using his considerable experience to take all of him in one go, his throat relaxing as Enjolras’s cock reached the back of his mouth. It didn’t take long after that, Enjolras rapidly turning into a writhing mess of begging, whimpering and moaning before tensing up with a ragged sob and coming, ejaculating shot after shot of pearly-white semen down Grantaire’s throat. Grantaire stayed down for a second, cleaning Enjolras’s cock with his tongue, softly, reverently; then he pulled off and moved up to collapse next to his lover, nuzzling into his neck affectionately.

Enjolras seemed shell-shocked, lying next to him and breathing heavily, almost gasping from the sheer force with which the orgasm had hit him. “I didn’t know it would feel like that.” Grantaire enfolded him into his arms, dropping a soft kiss onto the top of his blond head, and gently murmured “I’m glad you’re happy, my Apollo” in response.

Five minutes later, as they were approaching sleep, he heard Enjolras murmur a quiet “thank you” and pulled the smaller man closer to his body, smiling to himself as he fell into a blissful oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I BRING YOU PORRRNNNN. 
> 
> This is my first time writing smut (well it's my first fanfiction so that kind of goes hand-in-hand), I hope it's not really awkward or anything. *throws it and runs*


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is romantic and then my brain exploded.

**Enjolras**

_Mmmm. Sleepy_. Enjolras slowly regained consciousness. He was lying on his side, curled into Grantaire, his arm flung over his waist. Stretching with a yawn, still feeling a thrum of pleasure in his muscles after the magnificent orgasm Grantaire had given him during the night, he burrowed closer to the other man, pulling the blankets over his head and taking a minute to enjoy the warmth of his body and the feel of his smooth skin, before a pressing need in his bladder made itself known. He let out a small grunt of displeasure, then, sighing, disentangled himself from Grantaire’s sleepy grasp and got out of bed.

He padded to the bathroom, having pulled on a pair of loose sweatpants and his tight-fitting T-shirt from the night before, and relieved himself. Once done, he was awake enough to know he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, despite – or perhaps because of – the presence of the dark-haired _~~sex god~~_ man lying naked in his bed. Casting a wistful glance in the direction of his bedroom, he sighed, before embarking on a much-needed coffee mission to the kitchen. _Maybe he could get some work done before Grantaire woke up._ This hopeful thought was thwarted, sadly, as soon as he entered the kitchen and saw Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Jehan, and Feuilly sitting at the counter. Courfeyrac’s eyes widened as soon as they fell on Enjolras’s rumpled form, and he let out a loud whoop that made Feuilly wince and mutter “Dude, _hangover_.” Courfeyrac grinned, slapping the distinctly queasy-looking Feuilly on the back, prompting him to groan hoarsely into his coffee. “Sorry, F. I take it you had a good time last night then, Enj?”

Enjolras scowled at him suspiciously, and looked towards Combeferre as if seeking help. Unfortunately, his best friend seemed just as intrigued as Courfeyrac, and remained silent, shrugging his shoulders with an apologetic twist to his mouth and a hint of repressed humour in his deep brown eyes. Enjolras gave up with an exasperated sigh, turning his back to the counter to make himself a cup of coffee.

Jehan elbowed his boyfriend in the ribs pointedly. “Shut up Courf, it’s romantic.”

“Yeah, and it’s not like we didn’t hear _you_ last night.” This came from Feuilly, who still sounded mutinous.

Courfeyrac smirked wickedly. “Maybe so, but at least there are no pictures of me on Facebook with my head in someone else’s crotch.”

Feuilly groaned, his head falling forwards to thump against the cool surface of the counter as everyone else in the room chorused “ _Yes there are_ , Courf.”

Enjolras laughed in his deep voice, glad the attention had been diverted from him. It wasn’t to last though, as Jehan turned to him brightly and said “You might want to know that your neck is covered in lovebites, Enj. It looks like you’ve been attacked by lemmings.” He beamed guilelessly at the grumpy-looking blond man. “Ah, young love…”

“Jehan, shut up, you’re younger than me.” He resisted the urge to throw something at the poet’s head, knowing that Courfeyrac would probably throw something larger and heavier back.

Just then the door opened and Joly and Bossuet sidled in, followed closely by Musichetta, who, as ever, looked completely unperturbed, smiling serenely to the room at large and greeting everyone with a little finger wave.

Courfeyrac spoke loudly, his tone one of mock-concern. “Does anyone ever think our friendship group is a little bit… incestuous, sometimes?”

Combeferre furrowed his brow, nodding seriously. “Yes.”

Joly visibly winced, muttering something that sounded like _maybe we should all get tested for STD’s_ , just as Grantaire walked in. _Looking as if he’d just strolled out of a porn shoot_ , Enjolras noticed with a sigh. He’d pulled his jeans up but not bothered to fasten them, so they hung loose around his narrow hips, the top of his black boxers clearly visible, along with the dark trail of hair leading from his groin up to his navel. He hadn’t bothered putting a shirt on either, his defined collarbones and smooth chest looking even better in the morning light than they had the night before. He grinned broadly at Courfeyrac and said “Don’t look at me, I’m only friends with you lot so I could get into your fearless leader’s pants, nothing incestuous about that.” Enjolras choked into his coffee, a glare settling on his marble features, as Courfeyrac burst into laughter.

Grantaire caught Enjolras’s eye, the innocent look on his face contrasting with the stubble rash on his neck, and Enjolras scowled back, suddenly realising the lack of clothes was a deliberate attempt to try and get his attention. Determined not to let Grantaire see it was working, he turned his back on the other man, using the counter to cover the growing bulge in his pants, and ignoring Courfeyrac’s knowing smirk. He glanced up briefly, involuntarily, and caught Courfeyrac staring at him mournfully and shaking his head, mouthing “You’re not fooling _anyone_ ” at him over his mug. “Courf, stop it or I will stab you with my coffee spoon.”

“What?! I’m not doing anything!” Courfeyrac’s wide-eyed protestation was met with incredulity from all corners, Combeferre reaching out to cuff him over the back of the head. In the ensuing fuss, Enjolras sought out Grantaire’s twinkling blue eyes, finding them already intently focused on him; noticing the blond man’s gaze, Grantaire’s full lips slowly curved up into a beautiful, genuine smile. Enjolras felt the odd swooping sensation in his stomach again, noting that it wasn’t unwelcome, not anymore, and smiled back, softly, his cheeks reddening slightly.

Their moment was interrupted by Jehan swooning melodramatically right into Courfeyrac’s waiting arms, declaring poetically that it was just _too beautiful for him to be expected to cope anymore_ , as Feuilly looked like he might actually be sick on the table.

-ooo-

Enjolras walked Grantaire to the door an hour or so later, the older man having announced that he needed to go home to check on Eponine and start work on his final piece of artwork for University. When they reached the garden gate, and were thus safely away from prying eyes, Grantaire turned to Enjolras with a serious look in his beguiling eyes. “About that… I was wondering, would you mind if I painted you?”

Enjolras’s eyebrows rose in surprise as he examined the other man’s earnest expression. “Um, really?” Grantaire bit his lip nervously and Enjolras’s brain caught up with his mouth. “I mean, yes, of course, if that’s what you want.”

It was worth it for the smile that bloomed across Grantaire’s face. “Oh, Apollo. You are far too good for me.”

Enjolras snorted with a frown. “Nonsense.”

“It’s true, though.” Grantaire paused, a slightly vacant look in his eyes. “ _I should have been a pair of ragged claws, scuttling across the floors of silent seas_.”

“You’re quoting T.S. Eliot at me? Jehan would be proud.”

Grantaire quirked his lips up in a small grin and pulled Enjolras close to him in a tight embrace. Enjolras’s heart started beating a little faster as Grantaire’s arms encircled him, fingers stroking absently across his back, before he pulled back slightly and moved his face up for a kiss. When it happened, it was small, and chaste, and sweet, and made a rush of warm feeling bloom in Enjolras’s chest.

Then, Grantaire was releasing him, and turning away, pausing briefly to ask Enjolras a hesitant question. “Will you text me? You know, if you have time?”

Enjolras nodded. “Yeah, sure. I’ll see you soon, R.”

And with that, Grantaire was walking away, a slight bounce in his step.

-ooo-

Enjolras returned to the kitchen, feeling light-hearted but slightly preoccupied with the amount of work he had yet to do. _Still had to work out how he was going to juggle Grantaire and everything else in his life without dying of a stress-related disease at the horribly premature age of 18_. He banished the uneasy thought, glad to see that only Combeferre remained sitting at the counter, an old issue of The Guardian spread out in front of him. As much as he loved Courfeyrac, he didn’t think he could cope with any more teasing that day, and it was only just 11am.

Combeferre looked up as he entered, and smiled, seeming genuinely pleased for Enjolras. When he spoke, there was only honest interest on his face. “So, you and Grantaire… You’re definitely a thing now?”

“I suppose so.”

“And how do you feel about that?” Combeferre had always been perceptive.

Enjolras sighed. “Well, I like him. I do, I really do, you know that if I didn’t I wouldn’t even have gone there. But I can’t deny that I’m a little bit… concerned.”

Combeferre quirked an eyebrow at him, questioning. “About?”

“How I’ll cope with having to split my time for another person. How that’s going to affect my work for the group. Hell, even how _he’ll_ cope having to put up with me, I know I’m not the easiest person to be around sometimes.” He smiled wryly. “And I know he has… problems. He drinks a lot, and he’s insecure, and I have no experience of dealing with things like that. What if I fuck it up, ‘Ferre?”

Combeferre frowned at the open worry on Enjolras’s face. Standing up, he moved closer, placing a comforting hand on the other man’s shoulder. “I have faith in you, Enjolras. There is easily enough room in your heart for him, as well as your work. I honestly believe you’ll be fine, both of you.”

“Enough room in my heart, perhaps. But is there enough time in the day?” He shook his head in amusement.

Combeferre laughed dryly. “We’ll see. But Enjolras, I think you could do with taking some time just for yourself, and I really do mean that.”

Enjolras met the other man’s eyes and sighed deeply, seeing the assurance there. Combeferre had always stepped in to offer help when it was needed, steadfast and strong, and Enjolras was truly grateful. He hugged his friend, a gesture which both were unaccustomed to but was welcomed nonetheless, and murmured “Thanks” into Combeferre’s shoulder.

“No problem.” Combeferre smiled, and they stood for a moment in a comfortable silence.

All of a sudden, a slightly embarrassed look passed over the sandy-haired man's face and he cleared his throat awkwardly, drawing away from Enjolras. “Um, what – err, I mean, do you think Eponine would go on a date with me?”

Enjolras eyebrows shot up so far they nearly left his face entirely.

-ooo-

**Grantaire**

Grantaire idled home, his mind filled with images from that morning and the previous night. Whistling, he opened the front door, skipping inside and colliding with Eponine who’d been passing from the kitchen to the living room with a drink in her hand. She glared at him, her top soaking wet, and Grantaire at least had the decency to look abashed and mutter a solemn apology. “Sorry, Ep, I didn’t see you there.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

She couldn’t keep the glare up, though, and soon stopped the pretence of anger completely, her dark eyes gaining a wickedly eager glint as she pumped Grantaire for information on the previous night.

“So, tell me – did you two have sex? Was it dirty? Describe his penis, in intimate detail. No, wait, draw it for me!” She started excitedly rummaging around for pens and paper, ignoring the revolted look on Grantaire’s face.

“Um, depends how you define it, kinda, and _no, Eponine, you disgusting pervert_.” He ticked off her questions on his fingers as he answered, looking wryly amused.

Eponine sighed and rolled her eyes melodramatically. “You’re such a spoilsport, R.”

“Yup.”

“Meh. Fuck you. _Anyway_ , I’m having my birthday party next week, it’s Game of Thrones fancy dress, and you’re going to invite Enjolras and all of his friends.”

Grantaire raised a confused eyebrow. “Ep, um, I don’t know if you remember this, but it’s not your birthday for another month yet.”

“Shut up, I know that, I just need an excuse to get Combeferre over here so I can make him want to go out with me.”

Grantaire snorted. “Are you kidding me? What about Marius?”

Eponine sighed loftily. “Well, I think he’s just too immature for me, really. Grantaire, _stop laughing_.”

-ooo-

At 10pm that night, his phone buzzed on the dresser. Grantaire tried not to look like he was desperate to grab it, even though there was no-one else in the room, in a vain attempt to pretend to himself that he wasn’t _totally_ hung up on Enjolras. _Except he was, completely and utterly gone, and everyone knew it._

**Apollo:** _How are you?_

He smiled, something fuzzy erupting in his chest at the thought of Enjolras caring about his state of being.

_I’m fine. Thinking about you, and last night. How are you?_

**Apollo:** _Hmm, tired. Will sleep soon. Just wanted to say goodnight._

_I’m flattered. Did you get enough sleep last night?_

The reply took a few minutes to arrive.

 **Apollo:** _Yes. Although I was awake for a while before you woke up, in the night. Distracted._

Grantaire’s cock twitched in his boxers. _What was Enjolras doing?_ Intrigued, he texted back.

_And what were you distracted by?_

**Apollo:** _Your cock was hard and pressing against me. I couldn’t stop myself from pushing back against it, wondering what it would feel like inside me._

Grantaire nearly fell off the bed, all the blood in his body making a quick journey south. He sat still for a moment until his brain sparked into life again, then reached one hand down into his boxers and took hold of his hardening cock, imagining Enjolras’s hand there instead, the way it had been the previous night.

_Did that turn you on, the thought of me fucking you?_

**Apollo:** _Indescribably. I had to touch myself. I was just going to get myself off while you slept, but then you woke up._

Grantaire moaned, his hand moving furiously up and down. _Why was the thought of Enjolras masturbating next to him, biting his lip to stifle his moans, trying not to wake Grantaire up, so fucking arousing?_ It took him a moment to compose himself before he could text back.

_You have no idea how much I wanted to just bend you over and fuck you right then and there. When you’re ready, Apollo, you won’t believe the things I’ll do to you._

**Apollo:** _Tell me. What else would you like to do to me?_

Grantaire paused, breathing deeply. As arousing as this conversation was, he didn’t want to overwhelm Enjolras, or pressure him into doing too much too fast.

_Are you sure you want to have this conversation now?_

The response was instantaneous.

 **Apollo:** _Yes._

Grantaire didn’t have to think for long; he’d been having thoughts about what he wanted to do to Enjolras since they met.

_I want to tie you up. On your front, your arms tied to the bedpost and your legs spread wide open so you can’t move. Then I want to fuck you. Slowly at first, and I’ll keep pushing in slow for however long it takes until you’re crying with desperation, begging for my cock, and then, when I’m ready to come inside you, I’ll slam in and fuck you so hard you’ll be feeling me for a week._

There was a short pause, and then Grantaire’s phone started vibrating furiously. Surprised, he took his hand off his cock – with some effort – and checked the screen, confirming it was Enjolras, before picking up. “Hello?”

“Tell me more.” Enjolras’s voice was quiet but dark with lust, and Grantaire could hear harsh catches in the blond man’s breath, giving him a vivid image of what his Apollo must have been doing at that very moment, lying on his bed as he pumped his beautiful cock. His mouth suddenly dry, he swallowed, his hand once again finding his own rock-hard cock and beginning to move.

“I want to mark you with my teeth until you bleed or beg me to stop, to show that you’re mine. I want to blindfold you and handcuff you, and have you bent over a table, so you can’t see where I am or what I’m going to do, and it’ll be a surprise when I take you. I want to make you watch me touch myself, your hands tied behind your back and a vibrator shoved up your ass, buzzing against your prostate, while I get off and come all over your face. I want to spank you –”

Grantaire broke off with a moan. He was so, so close, and he could hear Enjolras’s frantic whimpers, indicating that he was too.

“ _More –_ ”

“Fuck, Enjolras. I, I want to spank you _hard_ , for being such a slut, because you are, you’re filthy, _God_ – and I want you to ride me until you come, over and over again, my cock hitting that spot deep inside you with every thrust –”

Enjolras suddenly cried out, his whimpers turning into loud gasps of pleasure, the sound of it pushing Grantaire over the edge as well, as he came harder than he could ever remember coming before. For a moment, all that could be heard down the phone was heavy breathing, as they both recovered. Then Enjolras spoke, amusement clear in his voice. “Fuck, Grantaire, I only texted to say goodnight.”

Grantaire laughed. “Goodnight, Apollo.”

“I’ll speak to you soon.”

They hung up, and Grantaire lay there in a state of orgasmic bliss, until he heard Eponine bawl from her bedroom.

“These walls are far too _fucking thin_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem is T.S. Eliot's 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock' and it is my all-time favourite poem. I fucking love Eliot ok.
> 
> Again, as always, I am sorry for what my brain brings you, and I hope you enjoy.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are ninjas, and a spectacular practical joke.

**Courfeyrac**

It was half past three on the Thursday afternoon following the party – with Eponine’s set to take place the following night – and Courfeyrac was preparing to leave University, whistling a jaunty tune, when his phone rang in his pocket. He slid it out and answered cheerfully without checking the screen, as was his custom. “Hello?”

“Hey, Courf, it’s Grantaire. Are you free tonight?”

Courfeyrac raised a curious eyebrow to no-one in particular, and replied. “Um, I could be, what time? And why?”

“Secret mission. And I dunno, about midnight perhaps.”

Courfeyrac’s curiosity was, by then, well and truly piqued. “Dude, come on, you’ve got to tell me more than that.”

“Haha, yeah, not gonna happen. But you should be honoured, I’m only asking you because I’m pretty sure you’re the only one mental enough to help me.” Grantaire’s voice was mysterious.

Courfeyrac was torn. On the one hand, he had never been one to shy away from potential mischief. On the other, Jehan would _kill him_ if he got arrested. “R, whatever this is, is it illegal?”

“Um. Yeah. But we won’t get caught, _I promise_. And it’ll be worth it.”

 _So tempting_. Courfeyrac groaned internally, knowing he couldn’t decline without significant harm to his reputation. “Ohh… fuck it, ok then. But if this goes wrong, you can explain it to Jehan.”

“Don’t worry, the thought of Enjolras turning his righteous fury on me if this doesn’t work is enough of an incentive to make me be careful.”

Courfeyrac snorted. “I thought Enjolras’s ‘righteous fury’ turned you on?”

Pause. “Well yeah, that too.”

They hung up shortly after that, Courfeyrac feeling slightly apprehensive, having been instructed to “dress like a ninja” and meet Grantaire outside the University at 11.45.

-ooo-

Courfeyrac jammed his black beanie over his brown curls, and shrank backwards into the shadows, adrenaline pumping through his veins. “So this is what criminality feels like.”

“Don’t be melodramatic. It’s not illegal to stand outside Uni at night, you twat.” Grantaire was similarly dressed, in black jeans, black trainers and a shabby black hoodie, the hood of which was pulled up over his unruly hair. The only hint of colour came from his startling blue eyes, which peered out eagerly into the darkness, watching out for rogue students. Seeing none, he darted out from the position they’d maintained for the last 15 minutes, crouched awkwardly in a doorway, pulling Courfeyrac after him by his sleeve. “Come on, hurry up.”

Courfeyrac sighed in mock-disapproval, fighting the wicked grin that threatened to spread across his face. He jogged next to Grantaire until they reached one of the faculty buildings, raising an eyebrow when the other man pulled a large bundle of keys out of his pocket and started flicking through them, his brow furrowed in concentration. “R, how on earth did you get keys to the offices?”

“Stole them off Javert’s desk.” Seeing Courfeyrac’s incredulous stare, he shrugged defensively. “ _I’ll give them back tomorrow_.”

Finally he found the right key, and opened the door silently, motioning at Courfeyrac to follow him inside. They crept up the stairs of the seemingly deserted building, Courfeyrac humming the Mission Impossible theme under his breath until Grantaire jabbed him in the ribs, shooting him a pointed glare from under stern eyebrows.

A minute or two later, and they’d drawn to a halt outside one of the empty offices while Grantaire rifled through the keys once more. Courfeyrac peered through the gloom, trying to make out the name on the door, then stepped back, his eyes widening. “Is there a reason we’re breaking into Professor Javert’s office?”

“Yes, we’re stealing his chair.”

Courfeyrac stopped in his tracks, shaking his head in amused confusion. “Why on –”

“Courf, shut up for a second, you’re distracting me.”

Courfeyrac grinned, an expression of expectant awe on his face as Grantaire located the right key with a triumphant “aha!” Opening the door, they sidled in, eyes scanning the room; the chair was sturdy looking and leather-upholstered, and looked like it weighed about a million tons, and Courfeyrac opened his mouth to ask _how the hell are we going to get this down the stairs,_ but Grantaire was already sneaking around to grab the back with an enormous smirk on his face. Courfeyrac sighed, shrugging in resignation, and bent forwards, taking hold of the front and nearly giving himself a hernia when he tried to stand up.

It took them 5 minutes to work the chair through the door, swearing in hushed voices when it got lodged halfway through, and then another 15 to manoeuvre it down the stairs without making too much noise. Finally, they got it outside, and started moving as quickly as they could, stifling their giggles so as not to look like naughty schoolboys, which turned out to be surprisingly difficult. Sadly, it seemed that two young men walking furtively away from the University, dressed all in black and carrying a large chair between them with mischievous looks on their faces, completely renounced the ability to look at all innocent.

-ooo-

**Enjolras**

A couple of minutes before midnight, Enjolras, on his way back from the 24-hour corner shop, had run into Eponine loitering outside the Musain. Assuming she was there waiting for Marius, he had simply greeted her and gone to walk past, but she’d quickly caught up to him with a friendly – if slightly manic – smile and slipped her arm through his comfortably. “You’re coming to my birthday Game of Thrones extravaganza tomorrow, right?”

Enjolras, feeling slightly awkward with the older girl pressed up against his side, nodded his head in confirmation. “Grantaire insisted,” he admitted with a rueful smile.

“As long as you’re coming.” Eponine grinned, a glint of something evil in her chocolate-brown eyes. “What are you up to right now?”

“Not much,” Enjolras replied uneasily.

“Excellent! You can come back to mine and keep me company!” She beamed up at him, showing far too many teeth and putting Enjolras uncomfortably in mind of a hungry shark. _She’s got some kind of agenda, I just don’t know what it is._

She steered him down the street, managing to be quiet for about twenty seconds before turning to him again and piping up. “So, Combeferre isn’t gay like everybody else you know, right?”

Enjolras groaned, realisation suddenly dawning, and tried to pull away from Eponine, but she had a surprisingly strong grip for a munchkin. She clung on, giggling madly, and Enjolras eventually surrendered and let her tug him back to her flat. _Whether that had anything to do with the possibility of her flatmate being home, well, he wasn’t about to say_.

-ooo-

Grantaire wasn’t home when they got back, and Enjolras tried to stifle the small feeling of disappointment that had stirred in the pit of his stomach. Evidently this wasn’t entirely successful, as Eponine glanced at him and smiled sympathetically. “He’s gone on some kind of stealth mission with Courfeyrac, he’ll probably be back soon.”

Enjolras blushed slightly, marginally embarrassed at having been caught out. Then, what Eponine had said sunk in, and he frowned. “Why Courfeyrac?”

Eponine shrugged nonchalantly. “Beats me. Drink?”

The blond man looked at the half-empty bottle of vodka she was proffering and, uncharacteristically, accepted. He didn’t particularly like the jealousy bubbling up in his chest; insecurity in any form was not a feeling to which he was accustomed, and it was even worse when the cause was one of his best friends. Grabbing the bottle out of Eponine’s hand and ignoring her look of surprise, he quickly uncorked it and took a large shot, spluttering as it burned its way down his throat.

“Whoa, steady on there, Apollo.”

He coughed, his face red, and glared at her. “Don’t you start calling me that as well, it’s bad enough when Grantaire does it.”

Eponine smirked. “Whatever you say, Apollo, but you really should be careful with that. You’re not a drinker, and I am not explaining to Grantaire why you’re passed out cold on the kitchen floor.”

Enjolras stared at her mutinously but she just raised an unimpressed eyebrow in return, refusing to back down. Eventually, he gave up, frowning furiously at the floor with a muttered “Fine.”

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“No.”

Luckily for Enjolras, at that moment they were interrupted by a loud, ominous crashing coming from the stairwell. He and Eponine took one look at each other, the tension now forgotten, and rushed to open the front door, peering down the two flights of stairs. Grantaire and Courfeyrac were laughing ( _and there was that unwelcome feeling again_ ), dragging a large, spectacularly grim chair up the stairs, stopping every couple of steps to regain their breath.

Eponine groaned suddenly, slapping a hand to her face in realisation. “R, you _didn’t_.”

Enjolras looked in between Grantaire and Eponine, utterly bemused, as Grantaire laughed, pulling off his hoodie and nodding his head. “Yeah, we did.”

Courfeyrac seemed to echo Enjolras’s confusion, meeting the blond man’s eye and shrugging wryly. Dragging the chair up the remaining steps and into the flat, he turned to Grantaire. “Now that I’ve helped you carry this thing for the last hour, R, not that I mind of course, do you mind telling me why?”

Grantaire grinned, reaching out for Eponine, who seemed to be caught somewhere between amusement and sheer horror, and pulling her into his chest. _Which was dripping with perspiration that had soaked through his shirt_ , Enjolras noticed, _and how was that so sexy?_ That thought, however, was swiftly knocked out of his head as soon as Grantaire started to speak.

“Well, Javert finally caught up to me the other day. Said he wanted to talk to me about my _issues with attendance_.” He mimicked Javert’s curt baritone perfectly. “Anyway, he called me into his office, and told me to take a seat.” His grin became wicked, and Courfeyrac started laughing hysterically behind him, leaning over to high-five the dark-haired man. “So, I swiped his keys off the desk, and now I’ve taken his seat.”

Enjolras’s mouth fell open. He tried to keep the look of disapproval on his face, but he couldn’t quite suppress his lips from curving up into an amused smile. Grantaire seemed relieved when he caught Enjolras’s reluctant smirk, as if he had been worried about the other man’s reaction. Letting go of Eponine, he strode over to Enjolras and pulled him into a quick hug, turning his face into the luxurious blond curls and murmuring “Nice to see you here, beautiful.”

When Grantaire released him, Enjolras noted that Eponine had collapsed into the leather monstrosity and was drinking deeply from the vodka bottle, and Courfeyrac was standing awkwardly by the door, watching their brief display of affection. Noticing the direction of Enjolras’s gaze, he cleared his throat and spoke. “Right, I’d better get back home, Jehan will be waiting up. It’s been good fun, R.” He saluted the room with his customary grin, then turned on his heel and left the apartment, whistling as he skipped down the stairs.

There was a short silence, broken after a few seconds by Eponine, who was shooting them an exasperated glance from the chair. “You can go off to your room, guys, I won’t mind. I have booze,” and with that, she waved her bottle of vodka at them, prompting Grantaire to walk over and ruffle her hair affectionately. “Night, ‘Ponine.”

Taking Enjolras by the hand, he directed them to his bedroom. As soon as they were in and the door had been safely shut behind them, Enjolras turned and pushed Grantaire forcefully against it, crashing their lips together in a furious kiss. He swallowed Grantaire’s surprised moan, biting down hard on his lower lip, and harshly shoved his hands underneath the other man’s shirt, digging his nails into his hips. He fiercely shoved his lower body against Grantaire’s, just for a second, so the other man could feel his erection, then pulled back, leaving Grantaire breathless and panting up against the door, looking dangerously like he might collapse.

Enjolras smiled innocently, smoothing his clothes down and affecting a nonchalance that he didn’t truly feel. “I missed you.” It was true, he had, it had been a busy week and he hadn’t been able to speak to the dark-haired man – _his boyfriend?_ – with the exception of a couple of hasty texts, fired off in between lectures and one-on-one meetings with Combeferre held to discuss which upcoming protests they would be attending.

Grantaire spoke, still out of breath. “I missed you too.” His eyes were dark and sensual, flashing with lust, and he unsteadily straightened up, stalking towards Enjolras with a predatory air. Enjolras barely had time to raise a questioning eyebrow before Grantaire was on him, large hands pressing down on his shoulders, pushing him down to the bed and dropping his full weight on top of him. They resumed their passionate kiss, Grantaire’s lips violently meeting Enjolras’s own, as Enjolras felt his wrists being grabbed roughly with one hand and forced over his head. He moaned brokenly, and Grantaire rocked his hips down, gloriously, their erections thrusting against one another and causing tiny explosions in the blond man’s brain. Grantaire panted out Enjolras’s name reverently, and pulled himself up, using the hand that was pinning Enjolras’s wrists to the bed to support his weight. The added leverage meant that he could thrust harder, his hips grinding against the younger man’s narrower ones, getting faster and faster until Enjolras started whining involuntarily and came in his pants, his hips bucking up violently throughout the duration of his orgasm.

Grantaire released Enjolras’s hands, and sat up on his haunches, unfastening his jeans and pushing them down past his thighs, revealing his hard cock. Gripping it with his left hand, he began to masturbate slowly, then spoke, his voice hoarse with desire. “Take off your shirt.”

Enjolras swallowed and complied swiftly, his hands shaking as they rapidly undid the buttons and pulled the offending item of clothing off his shoulders. Once done, Grantaire moved forwards to straddle Enjolras’s hips, his hand moving faster on his cock. Enjolras whimpered softly, arousal unfurling in his stomach even though he’d already come, and watched, his eyes transfixed, as the older man threw his head back and tensed, spilling his seed all over Enjolras’s stomach and chest with a guttural moan.

Grantaire remained in position for another minute or two, panting harshly. Eventually, he moved, but not before pulling his phone out of his pocket and taking a quick photo of Enjolras, lying back on the bed with his shirt ripped open and Grantaire’s semen decorating his tanned skin. “Pretty as a picture.”

Enjolras scowled tiredly. “Don’t you dare paint me like that.”

Grantaire smirked. “Don’t worry, Apollo, that’s one for my personal collection.” He leaned over and grabbed some tissues, cleaning Enjolras up before lobbing the balled-up mess in the vague direction of the bin. “Tempting, though.”

He laughed as Enjolras smacked him in the chest, then grabbed the younger man and hugged him, partly out of affection and partly to ward off his angry little fists. Once subdued, Grantaire leant over and dropped a series of tiny kisses to Enjolras’s face, still using his superior strength to pin the other man’s arms to his sides. Enjolras groaned in exasperation. “Grantaire, you are a constant source of irritation to me.”

“Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that, Apollo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was going to do the party scene this chapter, but it kind of ran away with me. It will definitely be in the next one though.
> 
> Sorry the update is a little later than normal, I got distracted with the John vs Killian videos on YouTube which I somehow didn't know existed until now. seriously what am i doing with my life.
> 
> Enjoy and comment, as per!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's a party, and all the associated ups and downs.

**Grantaire**

It was the night of Eponine’s party, and around forty people had turned up by 9pm, all crowding into the small apartment and getting progressively more inebriated as the evening went on. Most guests had been inventive with their costumes; Grantaire and Eponine succeeded in ticking off every single one of the main characters within the first hour, plus a couple of white walkers, and even one boy who was either at the wrong party or had come dressed as a direwolf wrapped in a furry rug. Grantaire himself was Jon Snow, his black curls falling messily around his pale face, dressed all in black with a heavy makeshift cloak tied around his shoulders – it may once have been a duvet cover, but hey, he was an artist, he could make anything look good – and Eponine was Arya Stark, having borrowed some of Grantaire’s clothes for the occasion, her long black hair pinned up under a soft brown cap.

Enjolras and the rest of the group had arrived not long after the start of the party, to be greeted with riotous shouts and drunken cheers from those already in attendance. Enjolras, with his soft golden curls and propensity for red clothing, had been bullied into being Jaime Lannister, which he seemed to be most displeased with, muttering darkly about abuse of power and tyrannical governments and only quieting down after someone pointed out that Jaime wasn’t _that_ bad, as Lannisters went.

Combeferre, fittingly, was Ned Stark, a role that suited his open, loyal face, and he was dressed appropriately, wielding a heavy sword that looked genuine and caused Grantaire to look him over worriedly because _was it really a good idea to bring weaponry to a party full of drunken students._

Courfeyrac was the source of much hilarity, wearing a long blonde wig, garish pink lipstick, and an oversized gown – _God only knew where he’d found that_ – declaring he’d come as Cersei Lannister because, well, who said they could only dress as characters of the same sex, and Jehan was clinging on to his arm adoringly, making a perfect Loras Tyrell with flowers weaved into his long reddish-blond hair.

Joly was a Maester, with a ridiculous beard stuck to his face that appeared to have been requisitioned off a passing Father Christmas, Bossuet was Tyrion Lannister, claiming that the fictional character was about as lucky as he was himself, and Musichetta made a perfect Melisandre with her Spanish-accented voice, in a floor-sweeping red gown that matched her sultry red lipstick, complimenting her tanned skin and long chocolate-brown hair. As soon as she’d walked in, about a dozen male heads had turned in her direction, much to both Joly and Bossuet’s displeasure, but she had merely smiled coolly in her traditional offhand manner and afforded no other attention to the longing looks aimed her way.

Bahorel had caused some confusion when he’d strolled through the door, with one arm draped over Feuilly’s shoulders, as he seemed to be naked under a large white sheet that had been artfully tied around his muscular form. Upon noticing the perplexed stares, he’d grinned broadly and announced “I’m the Wall, does anyone want to climb me?” making everyone in earshot either groan or laugh depending on the amount of alcohol consumed. Feuilly, by his side, had drawn on a ridiculous goatee and borrowed one of his sister’s tunics, making a surprisingly good-looking Petyr Baelish.

Arriving slightly later than the others were Marius and Cosette, dressed respectively as Robb and Sansa Stark. Grantaire, noticing this, elbowed Eponine in the ribs and murmured something about _disgusting incest_ , but she didn’t respond, catching Combeferre’s eye and blushing madly. Marius, with his red hair and numerous freckles, was a picture-perfect Robb; Cosette, typically blonde and gorgeous, had been expected by everyone who had met her to go as Daenerys Targaryen, but she had defied the stereotype, dyed her hair a flaming red and laced herself into a beautiful, corseted, pale blue dress.

All in all, it was a good effort from everyone, and Eponine seemed happy, so Grantaire was too. He detached himself from the group, heading towards the kitchen for a drink, pleased to find that Enjolras was following him closely. Once in the blissfully empty kitchen, Grantaire turned, pressing a soft kiss to his lover’s lips and murmuring something about giving George R. R. Martin nightmares. Enjolras smiled back at him, looking stunning in his deep red, form-fitting clothes, and Grantaire swept an appraising glance over his body. “You look _gorgeous_.”

Enjolras flushed slightly at the matter-of-fact compliment and bowed his head. “You don’t look too bad yourself.” Grantaire grinned back, his heart skipping a beat in his chest, only to be rudely interrupted by Eponine. “Guys, stop being romantic and gross, the party’s in the living room, get out there and _enjoy it_.” She shooed them away with her hands and a no-nonsense expression, and Grantaire shrugged, a small smile still present on his face, as he decided to humour her for the time being.

Walking into the living room, he saw a number of people he knew and hadn’t yet greeted, so wandered through various groups, high-fiving people as he passed and yelling out coarse comments to others. The soundtrack to the TV series was playing loudly in the background, and several people – _drama students, undoubtedly_ – were melodramatically re-enacting pivotal scenes from the books, so Grantaire stood for a moment alone in the centre of the room, swaying slightly to the music with a genuine look of happiness on his face. He was made for social situations, his confident façade and easy-going nature attracting people to him like moths to a flame. Before long, he was involved in an intense conversation with several people about the novels’ depiction of female characters, Cosette by his side animatedly arguing the merits of Sansa Stark. The debate had started after she’d overheard someone dismissively describe Sansa as useless, causing her to stomp up to the offender, a teenager with a supercilious look on his face, and proceed to lecture him for the next ten minutes.

“Yeah, Arya’s awesome, I’m not arguing against that, she’s a total badass. But that’s the point, she’s a total tomboy, which is why Sansa’s there to redress the balance.” Cosette shook her long, straight hair over her shoulders, preparing to launch herself into a major rant. “If the only amazing female characters in the series are masculinised, what does that say about traditional femininity? That it’s bad, or that ‘girly girls’ are weak? Just because patriarchal gender roles are oppressive doesn’t mean you have to hate on people who naturally conform to them.” She snorted in disgust, waving her delicate hands around to reinforce her point. “Of course Sansa would totally suck in Arya’s situation, but Arya would suck just as much in hers. Sansa’s playing the game because she has to in order to survive, and I’m not gonna deny she’s really annoying in the beginning, but she’s a product of her environment and just _look at the character growth, people_.”

Grantaire raised his drink to her. “Word.” He liked Cosette, definitely, so he jumped to her aid. “Same goes for Cersei too, really. I mean, she’s a massive bag of dicks, yeah, but she’s got the most amazing arc.” Cosette nodded vociferously in agreement, and Courfeyrac, walking past, whooped loudly and shouted “Preach it!” while trying to sort out his wig, which was falling wonkily over his forehead. Grantaire grinned, fuelled by alcohol, and continued. “Seriously, she’s grown up in the most penis-oriented environment like, _ever_ , and she’s pissed about it, so she’s ruthless, and she knows how back-stabby everyone is, so she’s paranoid as fuck. Can you blame her for wanting power when she’s been told for her entire life that she can’t have it because she’s got the wrong reproductive parts? And let’s not forget she’s just trying to look out for her kids, I mean –” and here he spilled half of his drink down himself because he was gesturing too enthusiastically “– can you really blame her for that?”

Cosette cheered in her high-pitched voice and fist-bumped him, therefore securing herself a place on his ‘lifelong bro’ list, before spotting Marius mooning after her in the distance and going off to join him. All of a sudden, a sensual voice was murmuring in Grantaire’s ear. “I never knew you could be so passionate about something. It’s nice.” He turned to see Enjolras hovering behind him with an amused smile on his face and an appreciative glint in his intense blue eyes.

“Yeah, well. I find it easier to be passionate about fictional characters. It’s less depressing that way, because you know you can make it go away when you choose to shut the book or turn the TV off or whatever. Real life, not so much, and there is no nice character growth or redemptive arc, nothing’s ever that simple.” Grantaire said all this with a wry smile, the cynic in him rising to the fore, as it usually did in these conversations.

Enjolras frowned slightly in displeasure. “And I thought we were getting somewhere, then. I don’t understand you, R, you can be so vocal and caring about characters who aren’t even real, but you won’t do the same thing for people who do exist and need someone to stand up for you. I just… don’t get it.”

Grantaire stepped back, a slightly hurt look appearing on his face, rendered more expressive by the alcohol he had consumed. “Um, can we not talk about this now? You already knew this about me, Enjolras, before we ever did anything, why are you suddenly deciding it’s a problem?”

Enjolras sighed, flatly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he examined Grantaire. “It’s always been a problem.”

 _Oh. Ouch_. Grantaire blinked in disbelief, before the alcohol in his system kicked in, turning his shock into anger. “Well, _Apollo_ , it might have been nice if you could have told me that before letting me think you _actually_ liked me. If I’m so damn problematic, I don’t honestly see why you’re bothering with me; _you’re so bloody perfect all the time_.”

The worst part, Enjolras thought later, long after the argument, was that the last part wasn’t even said sarcastically. It was sincere, as everything self-deprecating that Grantaire ever said always was. But at that moment, he was too irritated to take much notice, and snapped back just as harshly. “I just don’t see why you waste your potential when you could be _so much more than you are_.”

 _Well, that summed up the power balance in their relationship, then_ , thought Grantaire numbly. Enjolras was perfect, while Grantaire was only half-a-person, and it seemed they both believed that. Still, the feeling of betrayal was intense; in the week since they’d started _whatever this thing was_ , Grantaire had gradually begun to feel as though someone other than Eponine truly accepted him for all that he was, and now that rug had been pulled from under his feet. He stumbled, hesitantly, the alcohol properly taking effect and making him feel like even more of a failure in Enjolras’s disdainful eyes. Gathering the remains of his composure, he straightened up, looking Enjolras right in the face as he spoke, his tone dull but his words harsh. “You can be so fucking terrible sometimes, Enjolras. I can’t talk to you right now.”

He pushed past Enjolras, accidentally colliding with a random girl behind him but not stopping to apologise. Reaching his bedroom, he kicked out the two people making out on his bed, and hauled his wardrobe in front of the door to serve as a temporary-yet-effective barricade.

-ooo-

**Eponine**

Eponine had been having a great time, flirting tentatively with Combeferre and barely even minding that Marius was constantly all over Cosette, usually only mere centimetres in front of her, until Montparnasse had shown up drunk. Someone else had answered the door and let him in, and Eponine sighed in frustration. _Who had even told him that there was going to be a party here?_

He immediately strode over to Eponine, looking – as always – darkly attractive in a leather jacket and loose jeans, and eyed her up and down with an inebriated leer. “Nice.”

She snorted in annoyance. “What the fuck, Montparnasse, I’m wearing Grantaire’s clothes, they’re like four sizes too big. Stop being disgusting.”

He raised an eyebrow, swaying slightly on the spot. “You don’t like me complimenting you? Really? Even though you’re quite happy to fuck me when you’re in the mood?” His voice was loud, attracting the attention of several people in the vicinity – including, Eponine noticed with shame, Combeferre, who turned towards them with a calculatedly blank expression on his face.

Eponine felt humiliated tears start to spring up in her eyes. “Just, fuck off, Montparnasse. You’re out of line and I don’t want to deal with you tonight.”

He laughed, throwing his head back as he surveyed her in amusement. “That’s rich, normally you’d be begging by – _ooft!_ ”

Eponine gaped in surprise. Combeferre, normally so placid, had vaulted over the table and punched Montparnasse right in the face, flooring him. He stood next to Eponine, staring down at Montparnasse’s prostate form with distaste, taking off his glasses calmly and polishing them on his shirt. “She said you were out of line. You’re in her home. I think you should leave.” His voice was quiet but his tone indicated he wouldn’t hesitate to hit him again if need be.

“What the actual _fuck_ , I think you just broke my nose! _What the hell is wrong with you_?!” Montparnasse was clutching his face with one hand, blood pouring down his front and an angry expression on what little was visible of his face.

Eponine spoke determinedly, her arms crossed. “Get. Out. Now.”

Montparnasse remained on the floor, glaring furiously back. “The least you could do is call me a fucking ambulance, you bitch.”

Combeferre practically _snarled_ at that. “Right, that’s it. Jehan!” He called for the poet, who had been standing a couple of metres away with a shocked expression on his face, and hurried over as soon as he heard the other man’s summons. Leaning down, Jehan grabbed one of Montparnasse’s arms with a deceptive strength, while Combeferre took hold of the other, and together they bodily ejected him from the flat, locking the door after him and threatening him with the police if he returned.

Eponine slowly sat down at the kitchen table, feeling shaken. Montparnasse had always had the ability to make her feel violated with just a choice selection of words, and he generally took pleasure in it after having a few drinks too many. Grantaire was the only person who knew, but that had been the main reason they’d split up the year before. She felt ashamed and exposed, worried that Combeferre would think less of her, although the rational part of her mind knew that he had no right to judge her for her sexual choices. She also couldn’t help but feel slightly angry at herself for needing a man to defend her, something she was usually perfectly adept at managing by herself.

“Eponine, are you ok?” Combeferre had returned from the doorway and was sitting down next to her, sliding a comforting arm around her shoulders.

She smiled, a little tearfully. “I’ll be fine.” Sniff. “Thank you.”

Combeferre smiled softly at her. “It’s no problem.”

Eponine laughed, sounding on the verge of hysteria. “I feel like such a cliché around you, having you walk me home and punch sleazy ex-boyfriends for me.” She wiped her eyes on Grantaire’s loose shirt with an amused huff.

“I don’t do those things because you need me to, Eponine. I do them because I want to make you feel better.” He paused. “Because I like you.”

That was the final straw for Eponine. Burying her head into Combeferre’s shoulder, she burst into tears, causing a stricken look to appear on his face. “Shit, Eponine, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –”

“Shut up.” She looked up again, smiling through the tears glistening on her face, her hair coming undone under her cap and falling down around her ears, and Combeferre thought he’d never seen anyone more beautiful. “I like you too.”

Combeferre’s face lit up. “So, do you, um, maybe want to go on a date sometime? With me?”

Eponine’s smile grew impossibly wide as she leant up and kissed him impulsively, and the kiss was short, and wet from her tears, and clumsy, and there were teeth, but it was _perfect_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeahhh here's my second chapter of the night. It hasn't been proofread properly so there may be a couple of errors but I'll check them tomorrow, it's wayyy too late now. This pretty much wrote itself though, so I hope you all like it.
> 
> This chapter is basically just me fangirling over GoT, so I am sorry. Cosette and Grantaire's opinions are also mine, needless to say.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras is painted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for mentions of self-harm in this chapter.

**Enjolras**

It was the following evening, and Enjolras was standing awkwardly outside Grantaire’s flat, wondering if he should knock. He knew that Grantaire was home, and alone; Eponine had texted him to tell him as much, informing him that she was off to Combeferre’s and _he’d better go over there and make things right because he’d really fucked up_. So he’d gone, fearing the wrath of the small, angry girl – _and maybe feeling a slight twinge of guilt what he’d said, perhaps_ – but had paused with his hand raised over the chipped wooden door, not really sure what he was even there to say.

After Grantaire had stormed off the night before, slamming his way into his bedroom, Enjolras hadn’t particularly been in the mood to socialise. Feeling too irritated still to go after the other man, he’d wandered around aimlessly for a few minutes, before deciding to locate Combeferre, confident in his best friend’s ability to offer counsel and infinite wisdom.

A plan which would undoubtedly have been more successful if Combeferre hadn’t been talking intently with Eponine in the kitchen at that particular moment, his hand cupping the side of her face, fingers softly stroking her hair.

Enjolras had taken one look at them and sighed, choosing to leave them alone. It was rare that Combeferre actually liked someone enough to act on it, although he’d never been quite as chaste as Enjolras himself, admittedly, and the blond man couldn’t quite bring himself to interrupt them with his sordid, meaningless drama. Also, Eponine would probably have killed him to hear he’d upset her Grantaire.

So, he’d sloped off home instead, glad that his flatmates were still at the party. Arriving at his apartment, he had thrown his keys onto the nearest surface and dropped down onto the sofa with a tired frown. He wasn’t sure what exactly had prompted the argument, and it had shaken him; he’d thought that everything between Grantaire and himself had been going well, despite his initial misgivings. It didn’t feel nice to have his repressed suspicions, that he and Grantaire were fundamentally incompatible, so thoroughly confirmed.  And yet, at the same time, he didn’t just want to dismiss Grantaire, stop all contact, even though he knew he probably should. Although he was loath to admit it, the sight of Combeferre and Eponine enjoying a blatantly romantic private moment had made him ache, just slightly, somewhere in the region of his chest. _He wanted that_.

Enjolras felt ashamed. He’d always prided himself on his independence, on his willingness to put the cause before his personal life, and raised his eyebrows scornfully at his friends when they were rambling on about their unrequited crushes, which only ever seemed to last for a week or two before fizzling out. He didn’t want to be like that, self-involved and motivated by hormones. Had always considered himself to be above it all.

 _Ahh, how have the mighty fallen._ An amused voice whispered this inside Enjolras’s head, sounding disturbingly like Grantaire and making him groan and drop his head into his hands. _Obviously it’s not enough to have him under my skin, he has to take up residence in my brain as well_.

Standing up, he headed to bed, knowing that sitting up in the living room with the events of the night running through his mind, seemingly on a never-ending loop, wouldn’t do anything for his mood. Still, he slept badly, tossing and turning until the early hours, and as a result didn’t get much done the following day, his body aching with tiredness. At 6pm, with a noise somewhere in between a yawn and a groan, he’d given up with his notes on existential philosophy and checked his phone, noticing the text from Eponine with a frown.

An hour later, and there he was, standing in a slightly dodgy area of town and hesitating in front of Grantaire’s door.

He’d passed Courfeyrac and Jehan on his way out; they hadn’t returned from the party until around 5am and had spent the day lazing around on the sofa in their pyjamas, watching romantic comedies and snuggling up under a blanket. Again, Enjolras had felt the odd twinge of want in his chest.

So, as he stood by the battered door, his hand half-raised to knock, he was conflicted. One half of him was pulling him towards Grantaire, yearning for the feeling of _not being alone_ , longing for his hugs and his kisses and the soft smiles that were meant only for him. The other half was pulling him just as insistently in the other direction, insisting that he didn’t need anyone else, that it was better that way, that Grantaire would only distract him from things that truly _were_ important in the grand scheme of life.

Eventually, he half-laughed at himself, indecision just not being in his nature, and caved, his fist landing heavily on the door. Even if he and Grantaire were to end this… _whatever this was_ , it would be nice to clear the air between them first.

It took a few minutes for Grantaire to answer the door; when he finally pulled it open, Enjolras glanced up, taken off guard, having been on the verge of leaving. His mouth fell open in surprise when his eyes landed on Grantaire, and he pushed his way through the entrance, turning to the other man with a concerned expression. “Grantaire, you look awful.”

The other man huffed a bitter laugh. “Thanks, Apollo, did you come over just to tell me that? I’m honoured.” His smile fell long before it could warm his icy blue eyes.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Enjolras’s voice was quiet, unsure, as he looked at Grantaire. He hadn’t been expecting to find him like this, so clearly still affected from their fight. He was wearing a baggy black hoodie and loose jogging bottoms, his uncombed hair even more wild than usual, and his eyes were dull, surrounded by black smudges of tiredness. Only the tips of his fingers emerged from the overlarge hoodie, and they were fidgeting constantly with the loose threads that dangled from the sleeves. Grantaire noticed Enjolras’s gaze and seemed to shrink in on himself, his posture becoming defensive, wary, as if he expected the fierce blond man to launch into another verbal attack. “I don’t need your fucking pity, Enjolras. I’m a lost cause, I know it.”

“You’re not a cause.” Enjolras gazed at the other man intently. The guilt was beginning to set in as he gradually realised the full impact of the harsh words he’d thrown angrily at Grantaire the previous night. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Because normally people burst into merry song when you tell them that they’re a _problem_ , that _they aren’t enough for you_?”

Enjolras flinched back as he heard his own words, twisted and bitter, flung back at him. Grantaire’s voice was low and raspy, likely from staying up most of the night drinking and chain-smoking alone in his room. _That was definitely guilt, unfurling and spreading throughout Enjolras’s insides_. “That’s not what I meant, Grantaire. I just…” He sighed, trying to find the right words and knowing he’d probably fail anyway. “I find your cynicism to be disillusioning, sometimes, when I know that you are capable of great passion.”

Grantaire’s eyes dropped to the floor, then he turned, collapsing onto the sofa as if the weight of his body was too much to hold up, raising a hand to try and rub some of the tiredness out of his face. Enjolras followed, awkwardly sitting down next to Grantaire, making sure to leave some distance between them, and waited for the other man to speak.

Eventually, he did, his eyes coming up to meet Enjolras’s own. “That’s just who I am, Apollo. Take me or leave me, but don’t try to change me. Don’t act like I’m a disappointment.” His voice was bleak, as if he expected Enjolras to give up, to leave him there alone.

And Enjolras considered it, considered just calling it quits and walking out, because they both knew that if he stayed and they tried to make it work it would be far from easy. _They were just so different. Fire and ice, oil and water_. But then Grantaire was stretching his arm out to reach for his drink on the coffee table, and his sleeve was drawing back with the motion, exposing his forearms and the row of fresh, red cuts along his wrist, and Enjolras realised with a pang that he couldn’t just leave him, was physically incapable of getting up and walking away from this beautiful, damaged man.

His hand shot out, almost involuntarily, and grasped hold of the other man’s wrist, being careful to avoid the raw, bloody skin that seemed to be _everywhere_. For a brief second, he was speechless. “Fuck, R, I’m so sorry.” He hoped Grantaire could see his sincerity, hated being the cause of so much pain.

The other man snorted humourlessly and tried to pull his hand away, but Enjolras held on tight. “It’s not like you gave me the knife or anything.”

“No, but I should have known what it would do to you, saying things like that. I was stupid.” Apologising didn’t come easily to Enjolras, but he pushed away his pride, knowing that he’d fucked up, knowing that he _needed_ to be sorry for the other man’s sake. “I forget, sometimes, that I can hurt people.”

Grantaire looked at him with his soulful blue eyes, his emotions clear, swirling in their troubled depths. “I’m fucked up, Apollo. You can’t fix me.”

“I don’t _want_ to fix you. I like you as you are. I’m sorry for making you think otherwise.”

Grantaire inhaled shakily, moving almost imperceptibly closer to Enjolras. His voice, when he spoke, was hollow. “I am like Icarus, flying too close to the sun, burned by your fucking radiance. I am not enough, _I am not good enough_ , for you to choose me.”

Enjolras shook his head, his eyebrows drawn together in disapproval. “You do me a disservice, placing me on such a pedestal. I am not infallible, Grantaire, and _you know that_ , or you wouldn’t spend so much time disagreeing with me.” Suddenly realising that he was still gripping Grantaire’s wrist tightly in his hand, he loosened his fingers, twining them instead with Grantaire’s own and stroking the other man’s soft skin with his thumb.

Grantaire whimpered quietly at his touch, and Enjolras noticed with a start that tears were forming in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, to comfort, but Grantaire spoke first, his words frantic. “You’re going to leave me, I know it, if you stay now it’s only going to make it hurt more when it finally ends and I just don’t know if –” He broke off suddenly, bowing his head and running a shaky hand through his messy curls.

Enjolras’s eyes remained fixed steadily on Grantaire’s own. “Then tell me to leave.”

But Grantaire was already moving forwards, into Enjolras’s solid arms, their lips crashing together messily in a desperate kiss.

-ooo-

**Grantaire**

Grantaire stepped back from the easel, his brow furrowed, contemplative and studious. Enjolras was lying on the sofa, his body relaxed, looking up at Grantaire with a content expression on his face. He was shirtless, his trousers undone and pulled to halfway down his thighs.

Their reconciliation had concluded with Grantaire tearing Enjolras’s clothes out of the way and pushing him back down onto the sofa, taking the blond man’s hard cock into his mouth and ruthlessly bringing him to an orgasm that had racked his entire body with violent shudders. Before Enjolras could reciprocate, however, Grantaire had pushed himself up, looking much happier than he had 15 minutes previously, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and headed out of the room with a wicked glint in his expressive eyes. When he’d returned a couple of minutes later, still noticeably hard in his jeans, he’d been carrying an armful of art supplies. Ignoring Enjolras’s groan, he’d quickly set everything up, admonishing the younger man when he’d tried to rearrange his disarrayed clothes, and had started painting in earnest.

Nearly two hours later, and his basic outline was done, but something was missing. Grantaire peered at Enjolras speculatively, then opened his mouth to fire off a quick question, his lips set in a slight smirk. “Hey, um, just wondering; what’s your opinion on the death penalty?”

The other man sat up slightly, his body tensing and an intense look sweeping down over his face. “Completely barbaric, seriously.” He threw his hands up as he continued. “It’s so fucked up I don’t even know where to begin. I mean, for a start, how can they ever be 100% sure they’re killing the right person? There’s proof it doesn’t act as a deterrent to other criminals, so that justification is completely redundant, and besides, how screwed up is that, killing people to warn others off?”

Grantaire nodded seriously, his hands moving across the canvas with a new determination. “Carry on.”

“Then there’s the whole retributive justice thing.” Enjolras scowled, his face animated. “That’s vengeance, not justice, and the only emotion that should have a place in the law is compassion.”

Grantaire spoke up, his tone serious but his eyes still focused steadily on what he was creating. “I’d want vengeance on someone who hurt you.”

Enjolras’s face softened slightly. “Yes, no doubt I’d feel the same if the situation were to be reversed. But that’s why juries have to be impartial.” They shared a moment for a second or two, blue eyes meeting blue, and an unspoken feeling passed between them, before Enjolras continued his rant. “I just think there’s something totally evil about locking someone up, forcing them to submit completely, and then giving them a date when you’re going to kill them. Regardless of what they’ve done.” He frowned, his eyes fierce. “I think that if someone’s a genuine danger to society, then they should be kept away from people they could hurt, yes. That’s not the case for a lot of criminals, though; most could be rehabilitated if there was a good support system, but advocates for the death penalty never think about why these people committed crimes in the first place. They don’t think about social disadvantage, racism, classism, mental illness, and try to combat _those_ , no, they just lock them up and throw away the key because _they should have known better, everyone knows right from wrong_. The whole thing is just fucking cruel.” He finished with a sigh, his cool blue eyes impassioned.

Grantaire made a triumphant noise and put his paintbrush down with a broad grin. “Right, that’s the basics done. You can get dressed now, I’ll finish it later.”

Enjolras’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Really? Can I see?”

“Sure.”

Enjolras stood up, pulling his jeans up and fastening them before walking over to where Grantaire stood at his easel. “You’re different when you paint, you know,” he said sincerely. “You’re composed. Serene. It’s very beautiful to watch.”

Grantaire reddened slightly at the effusive praise, but before he could respond, Enjolras was standing in front of his art, his mouth opening with an emotion Grantaire couldn’t place as he stared at it. Then he was turning to the artist, his eyes wide. “This… Is this really how you see me?”

Grantaire nodded wordlessly. The painting, red and gold and black, only showed Enjolras’s face and the top of his chest, stopping just below his collarbone. His face was upturned, his eyes gazing off into the distance, past the observer, seeming to fix on an unseen light that illuminated the planes of his face, highlighting his regal cheekbones. His expression was _alive_ , his eyes blazing with fire and hope, his mouth slightly open as if forming words of passion. As a whole, the painting conveyed motion, glory, resplendence and pride, and Enjolras was speechless.

He looked Grantaire straight in the eye, his own eyes aflame with emotion, and kissed him fiercely, his hands shooting up to twine themselves in the taller man’s hair. Grantaire returned the kiss for a brief moment, then pulled back. “I’m covered in paint.”

“I don’t care.” Enjolras’s voice was low, intense. “Kiss me.”

Grantaire hesitated for a moment, then thought _fuck it_ and gripped Enjolras’s hips tightly, smearing paint over the other man’s tanned skin, before dipping his head and crushing their lips together. It escalated quickly, largely due to Enjolras’s passionate fervour, and they kissed hungrily for minutes on end before Enjolras drew back with a determined look on his face, panting heavily. “I want you to fuck me.”

Grantaire’s eyebrows shot up and his heart skipped a beat in his chest. Opening his mouth stupidly, he asked “Now?”

“ _Yes_ , now, Grantaire, please.”

Grantaire’s erection, which had barely subsided over the course of the last few hours, had returned with a vengeance. He licked his lips, his mouth dry, and spoke hoarsely. “Where? How?”

“ _I don’t care_.”

Grantaire let out a broken groan and pulled Enjolras to him roughly, slamming their mouths together again and undoing the other man’s jeans, shoving them down his legs before getting started on his own. All of a sudden, an idea burgeoned in his brain, and he broke the kiss, manhandling Enjolras until he stood in front of Javert’s chair and then forcing him down until he was bent over it. Enjolras was so turned on he didn’t seem to mind the location, simply opening his mouth to moan raggedly into the leather and urge Grantaire to _hurry up, please, just fuck me_.

Grantaire stepped back, ignoring Enjolras’s disappointed whine. Swatting him on the ass – and getting another frantic moan for his efforts – he smirked, his rock-hard erection pressing almost painfully against his zipper, and said “Relax, I just need to get some stuff.”

He strode into his bedroom, quickly locating lube and a condom, then re-entered the living room, smiling at the sight of Enjolras. He’d stayed exactly where Grantaire had left him, still shivering and pressing himself against the cool leather of the chair with small, breathless moans. _Such a good boy_ , Grantaire noted appreciatively.

Walking up behind Enjolras, he bent down to remove the last of his own clothing, and stroked a hand casually up and down his cock. Enjolras’s red boxers still covered his ass, so Grantaire gripped them by the waistband and pulled them down to pool with his jeans just above his knees. He liked the way the material trapped the younger man, stopping him from being able to move his legs, and he said as much out loud.

He softly ran a hand over Enjolras’s ass, caressing the smooth skin, before laying a light, open-handed slap across one cheek. Enjolras made a desperate noise, muffled by the arm of the chair, and Grantaire smirked, his cock twitching. Popping open the lube, he swiftly coated one finger, pressing it lightly against the blond man’s entrance. “Is this ok?”

Enjolras didn’t answer – _coherently, at least_ – but he pushed back against Grantaire’s finger, and he figured that that was acceptance enough. He smoothly began to penetrate the younger man, his finger sliding in, and Enjolras arched his back wildly with a strangled cry. Grantaire nearly lost it then and there, so he paused for a second, his finger stopping in its ministrations but remaining inside Enjolras, the other man trying desperately to push back, crying out for _more_. Grantaire spoke, his voice heavy with lust. “So fucking responsive, Apollo, so tight around me, you want my cock inside you too?”

“Yes, fuck, _yes, Grantaire_ –”

“Well, you’re gonna have to wait.” Grantaire lubed up another finger, quickly slipping it in alongside the first, stilling Enjolras with a heavy hand tight on his hip as he thrust in and out, steadily gaining speed and force until the other man was almost sobbing with sheer _want._

Grantaire added a third finger. He didn’t hesitate, pushing it in, crooking his fingers wickedly and hitting Enjolras’s prostate, over and over again, until the younger man was nothing but a writhing, trembling mess. He continued moving them in and out until the virgin beneath him was as stretched as he could possibly get, then withdrew them slowly. Enjolras rocked his hips back desperately, trying to keep the long, talented fingers inside him, but Grantaire was not indulgent, drawing back with a hoarse laugh. “Patience, Enjolras.”

He tore the condom packet open with shaking hands, and unrolled it slowly over his aching cock with a gasp. As soon it was on, he aligned his cock eagerly with Enjolras’s entrance and began to press forwards, slowly, until the head was fully in. He stopped, tensing, throwing his head back at the feel of Enjolras around him, tight and warm and _so, so good_ , as the other man hissed with a combination of pleasure and pain and arched back against him.

Pressing his fingers firmly into the flesh of Enjolras’s hips, Grantaire breathed in and out slowly, before picking up the pace and pushing in again, bit by bit. Before long, his hips were firmly up against Enjolras’s ass, his cock engulfed in the other man’s warmth. Raggedly, he managed to ask “Is this alright?” prompting Enjolras to moan loudly and push backwards, _hard_ , making stars explode behind Grantaire’s closed eyelids.

Taking that as a sign to continue, Grantaire pulled out swiftly before slamming back in again, making Enjolras cry out loud enough for the neighbours to hear. He found a rhythm quickly, his hips snapping back and forth, hard and fast, as Enjolras begged desperately beneath him for _more, please, I need more_. With a growl, Grantaire felt his orgasm build up, so reached around to grasp Enjolras’s twitching cock, squeezing tightly as he moved his hand frantically up and down. With his other hand, he administered a stinging slap. “ _Slut_ , come for me, you know you want to –”

Enjolras interrupted him with a high-pitched yelp, his cock jumping in Grantaire’s hand as it pumped out come all over the arm of Javert’s chair. As he came, Enjolras’s muscles clenched around Grantaire, prompting his own orgasm to hit him with blinding ferocity. He snarled, loudly, his fingertips digging into Enjolras’s already bruised hips, then sagged, completely drained.

He waited a minute for his cock to fully deflate, then pulled out slowly with an exhausted sigh. “ _Fuck_ , Enjolras.” The blond man turned around and slid to the floor, his chest glazed with a sheen of sweat and his pupils wide, making his blue eyes seem almost black. Grantaire looked at him with concern. “Are you ok? Did I hurt you?”

Enjolras shook his head silently, seeming to be searching for words. Licking his lips, which were red and swollen from having been gnawed at constantly as he was fucked into the chair, he finally found them. “I think I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras's views on incarceration and the death penalty are pretty much mine.
> 
> I keep losing track of my chapters towards the end and then they devolve into porn...
> 
> (This is nearly at 30000 words now so I'm really sorry if anyone thinks it's getting too long ahhhh I don't plan these things they just happen!)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are feelings but nobody is sure what they are.

**Enjolras**

Grantaire stilled noticeably as soon as Enjolras spoke, a blank look on his face. Enjolras immediately wished he could pluck the words back out of the air and erase them. _What was he thinking? It was too soon for that, it couldn’t have been more than three hours ago that he’d been contemplating ending their relationship._ For that matter, they hadn’t even had a conversation to determine what their relationship _was_ , and Enjolras was throwing out _declarations of love_? He kept his face carefully still and composed, not wanting his inner turmoil to be made visible to the other man.

Grantaire remained frozen for a few seconds, his expression still unfathomable, before quirking his lips up in a brief, unreadable smirk. “No you don’t, Apollo. That’s just good sex.” Then, he turned away, running his hands through his knotted hair before leaning down to pick up his clothes. Enjolras remained silent, not knowing what to say in return, not even truly certain of his own feelings. His reverie was only interrupted by the creased T-shirt connecting with his face, having been thrown from across the room. Grantaire grinned at him mischievously. “Thought you might want that.”

Enjolras raised an exasperated eyebrow and sighed overdramatically, glad for the ever-so-subtly-conveyed excuse to move past the unresolved moment. “You are the bane of my existence, Grantaire.”

“You wouldn’t want it any other way. Are you staying here tonight?”

Enjolras frowned for a moment, biting his lip. “I really can’t, not tonight. I have a lot of work to do tomorrow. There’s a protest on Wednesday, I haven’t done nearly enough to spread the news yet.”

Grantaire shrugged, only the slightest hint of disappointment visible in his clear blue eyes. “Fair enough. What kind of protest is it? I’m not going to get a phone call from you needing to get bailed out of prison, am I?” His voice was light, but his teasing tone didn’t entirely conceal a note of genuine tension – whether from Enjolras’s blurted out revelation or simply the potential dangers of the approaching protest, the blond man couldn’t have said.

“Probably not. It’s usually Combeferre who gets me out, anyway, when that happens.” Enjolras smiled wryly, his deep blue eyes serious, and stood up, pulling his crumpled T-shirt over his head. “It’s a gay rights thing, after the marriage equality bill went through last week. A few politicians – mostly Conservative, but not uniquely – have been openly saying appallingly prejudicial comments with basically no repercussions. I’ve liaised with LGBT student groups across the country and we’re all going to stage simultaneous protests to show that we’re not happy living under such a bigoted government; it’s quite ridiculous in this day and age.”

Grantaire nodded appraisingly. “Impressive, Apollo. But the bill passed, didn’t it?” He raised a questioning eyebrow. “The battlefield of politics attracts a significant number of dickheads, but the laws of free speech say they can still air their dissent.”

“Yes, but that’s not the point. I believe in the right to free speech, but clearly attitudes need to be changed if the _democratically-elected_ politicians who run the country are airing discriminative, hateful, _damaging_ views, and getting away with it.”

Grantaire smirked and moved forwards to ruffle the blond man’s hair. “And a bunch of grumpy queers will _most definitely_ change the minds of grumpy politicians.” His words were sarcastic, but not maliciously so, and there was affection in his eyes as he looked at Enjolras.

Enjolras scowled back. “It makes a statement. Shows that the people won’t stand for it. It’s a start.”

The cynic smiled, surprisingly sincerely, and bent his head down to press a sweet, chaste kiss onto Enjolras’s pouting lips. Enjolras found himself reacting in an unexpected way, his hands reaching up to fist into Grantaire’s curls, drawing him closer and prolonging the kiss, although he made no move to deepen it. They broke apart seconds later, and stayed close, Grantaire’s hands pressing firmly against the small of Enjolras’s back while Enjolras’s own slipped out of the taller man’s hair to rest on muscular shoulders. No words were exchanged, and Enjolras found himself staring up into bottomless blue eyes, several shades lighter than his own, trying to decipher the range of emotions he found there.

When Grantaire finally spoke, breaking the spell, his voice was soft and a little unsteady, but contained all the warmth of the earth-shattering smiles he typically reserved for Enjolras. “You should go. It’s late.”

Enjolras cast his eyes downwards and nodded. “Yes, you’re probably right.” He moved his hands downwards, sliding them gently down the strong planes of the other man’s back, then stepped away. “I’m guessing you won’t be at the protest on Wednesday, so I probably won’t see you till afterwards. I’ll be horrendously busy for the next few days.”

“Yeah. It’s not really my scene, I can wait a few more days before being gifted with your glorious presence.” His eyes were amused. “I’m surprised you haven’t tried to make me go with you, though. _Every voice counts_ , and all that.”

Enjolras looked up, and shook his head slightly, his fierce eyes never leaving Grantaire’s own. “You wanted me to accept you as you are. For now at least, I won’t try and force you to fight alongside me.”

Grantaire smiled. And Enjolras felt himself falling.

-ooo-

**Grantaire**

After Enjolras departed, with another sweet, lingering embrace, Grantaire went to his bedroom, intending to go straight to sleep. It had been a long day, and he was tired. Picking up the almost-full bottle of gin by his bed that he’d… _requisitioned_ from Eponine’s room, he took a shot, then located his phone to send her a quick text.

_You may or may not want to go to the shop to replace the gin I may or may not be drinking._

He collapsed on his bed, taking another long drink and feeling the familiar buzz start to hum through his veins. Before long, he was well on the way to drunk, ruminating on Enjolras’s words from earlier in the evening.

_I think I love you._

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

_He can’t love me._

Grantaire didn’t understand. He had no doubt in his feelings for Enjolras, he had been lost from the very first moment he’d seen him. It had challenged his cynical outlook on life, yes, but it had been love at first sight in the purest sense of the word; a love that had only grown in the few short weeks they’d known each other. How else to explain his willingness to let Enjolras in, to make himself vulnerable before this fierce blond _god_ , when he’d never trusted anybody apart from Eponine and never felt anything greater than lust for the countless partners that had occupied his bed?

So it should have been him professing love, adulation, _adoration,_ on his knees before the other man, spilling beautiful words to pile around his feet. Even more so since Enjolras had given up his virginity without a qualm, given up control, allowed Grantaire to invade his body just as he himself had invaded Grantaire’s mind.

Grantaire could give Enjolras his love without inhibition, content in the truth of his feelings – although he had refrained from saying it, before then, afraid to push his Apollo away – but receiving it in return struck him to the bone with a cold, dark fear. He knew that his self-esteem would not permit him to accept love, only to have it mockingly taken away from him again, leaving him broken and alone with nothing left but the insides of a bottle. _And it would be taken away_ , of that he was sure. He was not deserving of love, especially not the love of one quite so magnificent. He had nothing to offer in return. Sooner or later, Enjolras would realise that.

Grantaire went to take another drink, finding that the bottle was empty and dropping it to the floor in vexation. He groped for his phone instead, feeling maudlin, the alcohol in his system overriding any remaining caution in his brain.

_I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,_

_and I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,_

_And in short, I was afraid_

He painstakingly tapped out the lines from memory, then sent them, flopping back onto his back with a disgruntled snort when the effort of remaining seated proved too much. _He may have been drunk, but he was always capable of poetry._

A reply came through several minutes later, causing Grantaire’s phone to vibrate somewhere amid the mess of his sheets.

 **Apollo:** _Eliot again?_

Grantaire ignored the question, carefully composing another text.

_And I will show you something different from either_

_Your shadow at morning striding behind you_

_Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;_

  
_I will show you fear in a handful of dust._ _  
_  


The reply this time came quickly. Enjolras seemed worried, even to Grantaire, whose brain was presently occupied in drumming a pounding rhythm against his skull.

 **Apollo:** _Grantaire, are you ok?_

He shook his head with a huff, but didn’t answer. At that moment, he heard the door to the flat bang open, followed by Eponine’s tuneless singing, and hauled himself out of bed. Reaching his door, he caught sight of her practically _skipping_ around the living room, looking far happier than he thought any human should have the right to be at that particular point in time.

Spotting Grantaire in the doorway, Eponine grinned, her face alight with joy, and twirled over to where he stood, in a blurry mess – _to Grantaire’s eyes, anyway_ – of flowing skirts and shining hair. “I’m in _love_ , Grantaire.”

Her words cut at the wound that was already festering deep inside him, so he merely grunted in return, his voice surly. “Join the club.”

“ _Oh_ , stop acting like it’s the end of the world that Enjolras likes you back and is actually willing to have filthy sex with you, it’s not _that bad_ , R!”

“He said he loved me.”

Eponine stopped twirling, and stared at him incredulously. “Really? Fuck. And _God,_ how do you always have better gossip than me?”

Grantaire merely shrugged and folded his arms in front of his chest, his eyes cast down to the floor. Eponine, her expression compassionate, moved to stand beside him, her small hand coming to rest comfortingly on his bicep. “I know it’s hard, R, but it might do you good to let someone else in for a change.”

He sighed, leaning against the doorframe in a failed attempt to get the world to stop spinning. “It won’t last, though. He’s _Enjolras_. And I’m _me_.” He gestured at his own chest, as if that explained everything.

Eponine rested her head on his chest, hugging him tightly around the waist and murmuring soft words of comfort that were swallowed by the loose material of his worn flannel shirt. He pressed an affectionate kiss to her curly hair, then rested his chin on the top of her head, morosely. “Enough about me, anyway, Ep. You’re happy. I like it when you’re happy. Tell me about Combeferre.”

She looked up at him, craning her neck, as if determining whether he meant it. Finding only curiosity in his gaze, she smiled at the person she loved most in the world, a true smile that illuminated her entire face. “He’s… charming, and intelligent, and just _wonderful_. And he can cook. He cooked me dinner, and he made sure everyone went out so we’d have the place to ourselves, and I actually felt like he _cared_. Like he was interested in what I had to say, not just what’s underneath my clothes.”

Grantaire squeezed her tightly, mixed feelings warring in his chest. He was genuinely glad for her and Combeferre, and wished them every happiness; yet, simultaneously, the normality and romance of their situation made him feel even more conflicted over the indisputable strangeness of his own.

Eponine spoke again, unlacing her arms from around Grantaire’s body, her tone becoming more serious, and Grantaire knew she was admitting something intensely personal. _Something that he had felt, on occasion, with Enjolras_ , a small voice whispered inside his brain. “I think the best part, R, was that he actually _listened_ , you know, when we were talking about politics and morals and things that _matter_. He didn’t care that I didn’t go to a good school or never had any money. For once, I just felt equal.”

She went to bed shortly afterwards, reaching up to press one last kiss to Grantaire’s stubble-ridden cheek before she left the room. Grantaire listened to her singing awful pop songs as she got ready for bed , and smiled wistfully, before stumbling back into his own bedroom and shutting the door.

As he collapsed on his bed, his phone made itself known, jabbing painfully into his shoulder blade. He shifted around and picked it up, his eyes blearily focusing on the screen, to discover that he had received another two texts from Enjolras, who was sounding increasingly concerned. Grantaire hesitated, then opened up his messages, typing out a reply.

_I love you_

It sat there on the screen, staring at him, as the minutes elapsed. He couldn’t quite bring himself to send it, not yet.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

A burst of courage suddenly came from nowhere, and he sighed, quickly ending the text and sending it off into the ether before he could convince himself against it.

It read: _I love you, too_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well the marriage equality bill was actually a while ago in reality but wibbly wobbly timey wimey.
> 
> More T.S. Eliot. Quotes from the Waste Land and J. Alfred Prufrock. Not formatted properly 'cos Word was being a sod and I'm technologically challenged.
> 
> I hope this chapter's alright, was a bit of a pain in the arse to write so I cut it off sooner than I had originally planned.
> 
> OH AND I have a Tumblr now, so everyone should follow me and make me happy. It is of course Les Mis centric, because I don't already spend enough time weeping over these boys, clearly. http://jehancombefeyrac.tumblr.com/


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which not much happens because the author got distracted and basically just wrote porn.

**Enjolras**

_This is a relationship, then?_

**Grantaire:** _I suppose so_.

Enjolras slept soundly that night, his angelic features serene.

True to form, he barely saw daylight over the next few days, remaining locked in his room, sitting rigidly at his desk. Long hours were spent composing endless angry letters to various political groups, studying for exams, and getting in touch with his nationwide contacts to finalise the plan of action for Wednesday’s protests. He only left his room to eat or go to the bathroom, when it was absolutely necessary, and to locate Combeferre for help in refining a few key details – much to the other man’s displeasure when he found himself, more than once, waking up at 3am to answer Enjolras’s insistent, I-will-ring-until-you-pick-up-and- _don’t-turn-your-phone-off-or-so-help-you-God_ calls.

He made only one concession to his private life, at roughly the same time every evening, when he would take a break for dinner and text Grantaire to ask how he was, hoping this small gesture would prove sufficient to the other man that he hadn’t forgotten him, that he still cared. Grantaire’s responses were always brief but affectionate, seeming unconcerned – or at least, understanding – about Enjolras’s preoccupation. Enjolras felt guilty about this, in fits and bursts, whenever he let his thoughts drift away from work, but still, remained resolute in his decision to wait until Wednesday evening at the earliest before acting on his desire to visit Grantaire, to have a conversation with him, to kiss him and be fucked into the mattress by him.

Which was why, at 8am on Wednesday morning after a mere four hours sleep, Enjolras was not expecting to be jolted awake by soft, wet heat engulfing his hard cock. Consciousness returned to him fully as he felt an insistent tongue lick its way up his erection, and he gasped, his eyes shooting open and focusing on the naked form of Grantaire, on his knees on the mattress between Enjolras’s legs. Feeling the sudden movement, Grantaire paused in his ministrations, blue eyes meeting blue, and somehow managed to smirk wickedly with his soft lips still wrapped around Enjolras’s cock. The blond man groaned at the sight and let his head fall back on the pillow. “Grantaire, I don’t have time…” The lust in his voice, still hoarse from sleep, belied his words.

Grantaire pulled off, but not before administering a final, teasing lick to the head of Enjolras’s erection, making him shudder helplessly and whimper, his hips thrusting forward involuntarily.

“This won’t take long. I knew you’d be stressed out after days of working, thought you might appreciate the chance to get a release…” Grantaire’s voice was a caress, hot breath ghosting over Enjolras’s penis, and suddenly he couldn’t find it in him to resist any longer. _Well, it was true, he had been stressed_. “How – _ah_ – how did you get in?”

Grantaire had dipped his head to lick softly at Enjolras’s balls; when he spoke, his voice was slightly muffled. “Courfeyrac let me in.”

“So he knows what we’re…?”

“Undoubtedly.” Enjolras could hear the smirk in the other man’s voice, and groaned, partially out of embarrassment, but mostly due to the sensations Grantaire was eliciting with his tongue.

All too soon, the dark-haired man was moving away, shifting upwards to cover Enjolras’s naked body with his own. Pressing their erections together – _oh God_ – Grantaire lowered his head, capturing Enjolras’s mouth in a kiss, then drew back to nip at the other man’s neck and murmur into his shoulder. “You can have me, then go off to fight your fight. The question is –” and here he pushed himself up to glance down at Enjolras with a twinkle in his clear blue eyes, “– what would you have me do?”

The response was unwavering, almost instantaneous. “Fuck me.”

Grantaire’s eyes darkened with lust. “Right you are.” He sat up, reaching behind him for his discarded jeans and removing lube and a condom from a pocket. _He’d obviously come prepared_. Then, he was opening the lube, spreading it liberally over his fingers before pressing one steadily into Enjolras’s ass.

Enjolras was taken aback by the speed with which the other man acted, and writhed helplessly against his finger, his eyes fluttering shut as he let out a surprised moan. “ _Grantaire_.”

Grantaire thrust his long finger back and forth harder in response, enjoying the broken gasps and ragged moans that were being forced steadily from Enjolras’s throat. After prolonging the teasing for another minute, until the younger man was trying to shoot him frustrated glares in between shudders, he added another finger, swiftly pushing it in and deliciously twisting until he hit the spot that made Enjolras clench around him and growl. “ _Fuck_ , Grantaire, that’s enough, do it _now_.”

Grantaire smiled enigmatically, then started to slowly remove his fingers, bending down to place gentle kisses on the soft skin of Enjolras’s smooth inner thighs. Once out, he straightened up, rapidly retrieving the condom, removing it from its foil packet, and rolling it down his thick length with one smooth gesture.

Enjolras looked up at the man above him, feeling his heart pound rapidly in his chest with a combination of lust and sheer, delectable vulnerability, arising from the peculiar sensation of knowing he was about to give himself over so _completely_ , for only the second time in his life, to this man who could work his body with the same aptitude he showed for painting. His breath caught in his throat for a second, almost overwhelming him, but then Grantaire was pressing into him and all his thoughts were forgotten.

In contrast to their fast and passionate fucking the day before, this time was slow, and loving. With every thrust, Grantaire pulled back until just the head of his cock remained inside Enjolras’s tight heat, then, with agonising slowness, drilled back in again until their bodies were almost inseparable, joined in an age-old, animal way. Enjolras’s eyes never left Grantaire’s own, not even when he was begging to be touched, not even when Grantaire complied and gripped his cock with a firm, sweat-slicked hand. They writhed together on the bed for nearly an hour, sweat glistening on their limbs as they thrust together, panting, moaning, and finally, crying out loudly, when Grantaire spasmed and came, his grip tightening on Enjolras’s erection and pushing him over the edge too.

For a few minutes afterwards, they lay side-by-side in the crumpled sheets, wrapped in each other’s arms and exchanging soft, lazy kisses as their breath began to even out. Eventually, Grantaire stirred, pushing himself up on tired arms and looking down at his blond lover. “I should leave, it’s nearly half past nine.” His voice was soft, and _loving_ , Enjolras realised with a jolt somewhere in his chest.

Enjolras reached up, tangling his hand in the other man’s hair. “You can come back later, if you want. I’ll call you when we’re done, everyone will probably come back here…” He trailed off, his hand slipping out of Grantaire’s hair and coming down to rest on his chest, where he could feel the other man’s heart beat, thundering beneath his palm. “I’d like it if you came.”

Grantaire brought a hand up to rest against Enjolras’s, their fingers entwining. “I’ll see you later, then.”

-ooo-

Grantaire dressed himself – aware of Enjolras’s gaze on him all the while – and left, after pressing a quick kiss to the other man’s golden curls. He planned to go home and catch up on some sleep, having set an alarm to wake up early in order to surprise his lover. Walking back, he hummed merrily under his breath, replaying the events of the morning in his head.

_I’d like it if you came._

Had Enjolras just been referring to the invite he’d extended for that night? Or had he also been thinking of the protest itself? Grantaire ruminated on this for a while. He knew the other man would like it if he went, that much was obvious. _Was he letting him down by not going? Should he be making more of an effort to please him?_

Grantaire reached his front door, and furrowed his brow. He was well aware, by now, that he would do most anything to make Enjolras happy. Would that extend to going against what he truly believed in order to help his Apollo try to change a fundamentally unchangeable world?

He let himself in, his thoughts engaged in a vociferous debate. _Would it make Enjolras smile to see him there, unexpectedly?_

_Almost definitely._

Well, that settled it, then.

A couple of hours later, Grantaire had showered and dressed in clean clothes. Eponine was already with Combeferre, having agreed several days previously to help out; so, before casting one last look around the apartment to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, Grantaire grabbed a red beanie from the table by the door and headed back out.

Jamming the hat over his untidy dark curls with one hand, he used the other to locate his phone in his jeans pocket and dialled Eponine’s number from memory. She picked up just before it hit voicemail, evidently busy.

“R? What’s up?”

“Thought I’d come and join your band of merry queers. Where are you?”

“That’s amazing, R!” She suddenly raised her voice in an eardrum-melting shriek to inform whoever was with her that Grantaire was on his way. Grantaire winced slightly, holding the phone a few centimetres away from his ear, before Eponine spoke again, her voice breathless but at least _quiet_. “We’re by the Students’ Union, you can’t miss us, there are so many people here!”

Grantaire smiled at the earnest excitement in her voice while simultaneously dreading the large number of activists. _Oh well, he’d have a drink – or a bottle – later, to make up for it_.

Fifteen minutes later, and he was arriving at the University, seeing the truth in Eponine’s words. There were people milling around everywhere, wearing rainbow colours and waving signs. They were friendly, smiling at Grantaire when he passed, and once or twice he couldn’t help smiling back. Reaching the Students’ Union bar within another couple of minutes, he quickly spotted Eponine and Cosette, making out enthusiastically beneath a sign that read ‘Separate but equal is NOT equal’ for a journalist who was snapping away excitedly with his camera. Grantaire noticed with a smirk that Marius was staring at them from a slight distance, his eyes wide and mouth open gormlessly – _and_ , Grantaire was willing to bet, _an erection that would become increasingly difficult to conceal under his purple skinny jeans._ He also spotted Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta, who were shouting something about polyamory, wrapped around each other in such a way that Grantaire couldn’t tell whose limbs were whose, and Bahorel and Feuilly; the former was engaged in a slanging match with a tough-looking security guard, while the latter tugged nervously at his arm, trying to get him to walk away before the fight turned physical. Grantaire had to laugh at the scene for its sheer predictability.

Grantaire approached the group, just as Courfeyrac leapt up from where he’d been sitting on the grass and, grinning broadly, launched himself at a surprised Enjolras, kissing him fiercely on the lips. A wave of cheers went up around them and the journalist with the camera turned, snapping off a few more quick shots. Grantaire stepped forwards and raised an eyebrow, reaching out to tap Courfeyrac on the shoulder, which prompted the other man to release his boyfriend and turn around. “Shouldn’t I be doing that?”

His tone was pleasant but also contained a note of unmistakeable possessiveness. _This is fine, but anything more and you will be overstepping boundaries, Courfeyrac_. “Where’s Jehan, anyway?”

Courfeyrac moved away from Enjolras with a guileless smile, as if seeking to reassure Grantaire, just as the blond man reached down and took Grantaire’s hand. “He’s made friends and disappeared somewhere, he always does. He’ll turn up soon covered in phone numbers and lines of poetry.”

Grantaire nodded, his attention already turning to the man clinging onto his fingers, who was looking up at him with a radiant expression lighting up his marble features. “You came.” It was a simple statement, matter-of-fact, but contained a boundless happiness.

Grantaire grinned back, his heart leaping at the look on Enjolras’s face. _Who knew that I could make him so happy_? Grantaire felt as if he were being bathed in a glorious light, his veins thrumming with exaltation, as he leaned down to capture the other man’s lips with his own. The kiss started off softly, as a mere greeting, but deepened quickly when Enjolras slipped his tongue into Grantaire’s mouth. Before long, they were embracing with much the same intensity as Eponine and Cosette, who were still enthusiastically putting on a show several feet away. Grantaire’s hands slid down Enjolras’s back to squeeze his taut, muscular backside, showcased to perfection in the stupidly tight jeans he always seemed to be wearing, causing the other man to make a pleased sound into his mouth. Then, all of a sudden, Enjolras was grinding their hips together, and Grantaire noticed with a small jolt that he could feel the other man’s erection pressing into his thigh. He suspected that at least part of his vigour was a result of the setting, _a great way to make an impact_ , but right at that moment, Grantaire didn’t care. He pushed back just as forcefully, his own cock making itself known in his jeans.

They carried on like that for a few minutes, Grantaire getting increasingly hard and beginning to feel sparks in his brain every time Enjolras rubbed up against him, until someone wolf-whistled behind them. They broke apart reluctantly, breathing heavily, neither seeming to care that they were in a public place. _Hell, if Enjolras would let him, Grantaire would be quite content to fuck him then and there, on the ground in front of everyone_.

Before releasing the dark-haired man completely, Enjolras pulled him forwards to growl “later” in his ear, in a voice full of promise, and Grantaire swallowed, his zipper digging in uncomfortably. Then Enjolras was backing off with a satisfied expression on his face, and Grantaire, suddenly aware of the crowds around them, noticed Courfeyrac whispering into the newly-returned Jehan’s ear, arms wrapped around him from behind. Both the flirt and the poet were staring at Grantaire and Enjolras in a way that could only be described, Grantaire slowly realised, as _lustful_.

 _Later_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evil place to end it, yeah. What will happen WHO KNOWS.
> 
> For those who haven't already (and thank you so much ily all to those who have) please follow me on tumblr, jehancombefeyrac.tumblr.com.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, um. Yeah. Porn. I'm sorry.

**Enjolras**

They returned home just as the sun was beginning to set, exhausted and smiling broadly, arms slung around each other. Enjolras’s usually elegant gait was impeded slightly by Grantaire, who’d snaked an arm around his waist and was leaning against him heavily, his body having a warming effect despite the layers of clothing that separated them. He had claimed drunkenness as an excuse, but Enjolras, seeing a sharp lucidity in Grantaire’s clear eyes, suspected that his real motives were considerably more lustful.

Combeferre, smiling proudly, had his arm around Eponine; she in turn was holding Cosette’s right hand while Marius clung onto her left. Joly had one arm around Musichetta’s shoulders, while Bossuet, on her other side, was gripping onto her waist, his fingers brushing comfortably up against Joly’s side. Bahorel, as per usual, was gripping Feuilly with a force that made it look more like a wrestling move than a friendly gesture, but even so, they were undoubtedly affectionate with one another. Courfeyrac and Jehan were tagging along slightly behind Enjolras and Grantaire, their fingers locked together lovingly, seemingly engaged in their own private conversation, which appeared to involve a lot of whispering and muffled giggles.

It took them far longer than normal to reach the flat shared by Enjolras, Courfeyrac and Joly. None of them were in any particular hurry, strolling casually down quiet streets and happily discussing the day’s events – and, briefly, stopping so that Courfeyrac and Grantaire could nip into an off-license to pick up as many six-packs of beer as they could carry for the celebration they insisted would occur once they arrived at the apartment – but still, there was a collective sigh of happiness when they got in and collapsed on various items of furniture, enjoying a moment of peace after the liveliness of the protest.

Enjolras was the first to speak. “It went well, I think. There was a good media presence; we’ll be in the local newspapers at least. Well done, all of you.” His voice was drowsy, but congratulatory, and bore a distinct note of pride. Grantaire, his head resting comfortably on Enjolras’s shoulder, smiled and pressed a small kiss on the smooth skin of his boyfriend’s neck, causing the blond man’s generally unshakeable composure to falter slightly as he let out a small, involuntary shudder at the feel of Grantaire’s rough stubble against the sensitive area.

Courfeyrac sat up from where he had been sprawled across Jehan’s lap and waggled his eyebrows mischievously. “In the spirit of free love and all that, do you know what we should do?”

“What?” chorused everyone else, voices apprehensive.

“Spin the bottle.”

The room erupted in groans. Feuilly lobbed a balled-up pamphlet at Courfeyrac’s head, while Musichetta poked him with her shoe. Enjolras frowned. “Courfeyrac, pretty much everyone here is in a relationship.”

“Yeah, that’s what makes it such a good game; it’s not likely to get messy if everyone’s spoken for.” The flirt stuck his tongue out at Enjolras. “Besides, I’ve already kissed everyone in this room – well, apart from Eponine, _who by the way is missing out_ – what harm can it do?” At this, Feuilly and Bahorel shot each other surprised glances and simultaneously blushed, much to Grantaire’s amusement.

A minute later, the dark-haired man lifted his head from his boyfriend’s shoulder, taking Enjolras aback when he spoke. “I think it might be fun.” He smirked playfully when Enjolras narrowed his eyes at him, as Jehan proclaimed his agreement with deceptively innocent blue eyes.

Before long, Courfeyrac had located an empty bottle, having browbeaten the majority of his friends into playing the game and ostentatiously ignoring Enjolras’s beady-eyed glares until he too was obliged to submit, grabbing a beer to fortify his courage. Gradually, they all moved onto the floor, forming a rough circle, Grantaire still leaning against Enjolras’s narrow frame affectionately as they both drank deeply from their bottles.

The first spin led to Courfeyrac enthusiastically kissing Combeferre while the rest of the group cheered them on, prompting the latter to blush and spend the next couple of minutes shifting uncomfortably while repeatedly polishing his glasses. The second saw Combeferre kiss Feuilly, a fairly unexciting embrace, then Feuilly span, a grin illuminating his pointed features when the bottle pointed to Bahorel. Their kiss wasn’t particularly deep, but lasted a few seconds more than it need have, and neither party looked at all embarrassed when they separated. After the fourth spin, Bahorel kissed Jehan, the larger man dwarfing the poet in a way that Enjolras found, to his surprise, uncomfortably erotic. By that point, the alcohol had been flowing freely for a while, and everyone was feeling the effects. Then, it was Jehan’s turn; the bottle whirred around the group before slowly coming to rest on Grantaire. Grantaire shrugged, a wry grin on his face, as he lifted his head off of Enjolras’s shoulder, making the blond man feel unexpectedly bereft. He watched as his lover sat up on his knees, kneeling towards Jehan, as the poet looked up at him, his body sinuous and expression coy, causing Enjolras to frown slightly, awaiting their embrace with apprehension. _The last time he’d watched Grantaire kiss somebody else it hadn’t been particularly nice… but this was just a game_.

Jehan leaned forwards, surprisingly seductive as his small-boned hand came up to rest against Grantaire’s jaw, his entire body melting into Grantaire’s as their faces drew nearer. Then, all of a sudden, they were kissing, and Enjolras was taken aback by the force of his own reaction. There was a little bit of jealousy, sure, as Jehan slid his tongue into Grantaire’s mouth and buried his hand in dark curls to deepen the kiss, but mostly, _overwhelmingly_ , there was arousal, and Enjolras felt his jeans tighten considerably. He swallowed, unused to being so affected by such a display, and crossed his legs, hoping to mask his growing hardness, forcing himself to look away. He glanced to the side and noticed Courfeyrac looking at him appraisingly, a knowing glint in his eye, as he brushed long fingers over his own noticeable erection. The rest of the group was wolf-whistling and calling out vulgar comments to Grantaire and Jehan, who finally broke apart with an obscene noise, and suddenly Enjolras couldn’t take anymore. He stood up shakily, his cock throbbing and his mouth dry, and stalked off to the kitchen.

-ooo-

**Grantaire**

Grantaire shot up, equally unsteadily, convinced that Enjolras was upset. _Shit. Why did I let the kiss go on that long? That was really fucking stupid_. He groaned internally and followed his boyfriend nervously into the other room; Enjolras was facing away from the door, his head bowed, fingers gripping onto the counter so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. Grantaire walked up behind him, reaching out a hand to gently touch the tense muscles of the blond man’s back. “Are you ok, Apollo?”

Enjolras let out a harsh breath. “Yes. I’m fine.”

Grantaire raised a sceptical eyebrow, his expression radiating concern. “I don’t believe you.” He let his hand slide downwards, stroking Enjolras’s lower back insistently, and was surprised when the other man let out a frustrated moan. “Enjolras –”

He broke off as Enjolras turned to face him. His pupils were large, making his eyes seem almost black, and his hands remained clenched into tight fists, but Grantaire’s eyes were irrevocably drawn to the front of his jeans, which was tented with obvious arousal. Grantaire’s mouth opened slightly. “Oh.”

“Don’t say a _word_.” Enjolras’s voice was fiercely controlled, a hard whisper. Grantaire’s brain still hadn’t quite caught up when the blond man pulled him down for a kiss that took his breath away and caused his cock, already half-excited from Jehan’s embrace, to twitch in his pants. Enjolras moaned into his mouth and _oh dear God, that was it, they were going to the bedroom or Grantaire was going to come in his pants._

Grantaire broke the kiss, ignoring Enjolras’s mumbled protests, and tugged him down the corridor and into his bedroom, barely waiting for the door to shut behind them before pushing the other man down onto the bed and tearing at the buttons of his shirt. Enjolras bucked up into him with a moan and Grantaire let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl in return, forcing Enjolras’s hips down against the mattress with his large hands and biting at the crook of his neck before pulling away to speak. “Do you have _any idea_ how much I want to fuck you right now?”

Enjolras _hmmph’d_ in frustration and tried pushing his groin back up against Grantaire’s erection, to no avail; Grantaire’s hands remained tight on his hips. “Acting so provocative all day, making me wait –” his voice was ragged, and he finally moved his hands up to rest on Enjolras’s shoulders, allowing the other man to wrap his legs around him and _thrust_ , _oh_ , “–well, now, _you’re_ going to wait.”

Grantaire smirked evilly when Enjolras narrowed his eyes at him, and moved back to rest on his haunches, pulling his shirt off as he did so. “Strip.”

Enjolras glared but complied, wanting nothing more than Grantaire’s hand or mouth or _anything_ on his throbbing cock. Naked, he lay back on the bed, smiling to see Grantaire’s eyes sweeping devotedly over his body, and reached down to take himself in hand, lazily stroking up and down. He expected Grantaire to stop him, to prolong the torture, but instead he just licked his lips and remained silent for a minute. When the dark-haired man spoke, his eyes glued to Enjolras’s slow movements, his voice was hoarse and unsteady. “Or, yeah. You could do that.”

Of course, that was when the knock on the door came. Enjolras, ceasing his ministrations, sat up, pulled a blanket over himself, and frowned. Grantaire quirked an irritated eyebrow in the vague direction of the door and called out “I really hope someone’s dying, because otherwise _there is absolutely no reason good enough for you to be knocking right now_.”

There was a pause; then Courfeyrac’s cheerful voice replied. “We’ll have to see about that.”

Grantaire sighed, and got off the bed, not bothering to pull his shirt back on. Opening the door slightly, he scowled at Courfeyrac and Jehan, who were both leaning up against the doorframe with uncannily similar mischievous expressions on their faces. “ _What?_ ”

Courfeyrac grinned widely and clapped him on the shoulder, fingertips pressing into Grantaire’s solid muscle a little harder than was necessary. “We were just wondering, seeing as kissing my boyfriend had such an… _interesting_ effect on you both, if maybe you’d like to continue the party in here. Without everyone else.”

Grantaire’s eyebrows shot up into the stratosphere as he took an involuntary step back from the door, letting it swing open. _Only Courfeyrac could say something that brazen – and cheesy – with such a straight face and matter-of-fact manner_. For a moment, he was stunned into silence, his mouth trying to form words that continually evaded him.

Courfeyrac dropped his smile for a moment. “Of course, you’re welcome to decline. We just thought it might be fun.” His green eyes bore into Grantaire’s blue ones, a question floating in their depths.

Grantaire turned to Enjolras, whose face somehow managed to simultaneously convey surprise, uncertainty, and arousal, while remaining ridiculously attractive. “Um…”

Jehan sighed slightly, then straightened up, moving away from the doorframe to stand directly in front of Grantaire, so that only a few inches remained between them. He looked up and stated simply “You can kiss me again if you want.”

Grantaire hesitated, caught between desire and propriety, and feeling that he _definitely_ wasn’t drunk enough for this, until –

“Do it.” Enjolras’s voice, as ever, was strong and commanding.

Grantaire started in surprise, and turned to meet Enjolras’s eyes, which, as always, were resolute. Something unspoken passed between them, a tiny nod, and then Grantaire was closing the space between him and Jehan, dipping his head to continue their earlier embrace with fervour. Their lips met, and the poet slipped his nimble tongue into Grantaire’s mouth almost instantaneously. The kiss was more urgent than before, and yet somehow more sensual, the anticipation of what was to come fuelling their desire.

Grantaire was dimly aware of Courfeyrac slipping past him to sit on the bed next to Enjolras. He broke the kiss, bending slightly to lick a line down Jehan’s neck, taking the opportunity to watch Courfeyrac reach out for Enjolras, threading a hand into his blond curls and drawing him closer. Watching them kiss, hesitantly at first but steadily more intense, with the knowledge that Enjolras was completely naked and probably aroused under the sheet, made Grantaire achingly hard; he ground himself against Jehan’s slender hip, enjoying the almost musical whimpers emanating from the smaller man’s throat as he bit softly at the smooth flesh of his neck.

Courfeyrac gently pushed Enjolras down until he was lying back on the bed, then straddled his hips, still fully clothed and with a blanket between them. Grantaire almost moaned aloud, seeing his boyfriend arch up in arousal against the other man; Jehan, sensing his desire, pulled back and started unbuttoning his own shirt, pulling it off his shoulders to reveal a slim, lightly freckled, beautifully pale chest, then moved his hands down to the zipper of his purple jeans.

At this point, Grantaire took over, going to his knees before the poet and delicately unfastening his trousers before pushing them down over his hard cock. _He wasn’t wearing anything underneath_ , Grantaire noticed, his mouth going suddenly dry. Jehan moaned softly and thrust forward almost imperceptibly, prompting Grantaire to take hold of his erection at the base and move closer, his tongue coming out to flick teasingly at the head as he started smoothly pumping up and down. Behind Jehan, Courfeyrac had started kissing a soft line down Enjolras’s chest, one hand pushing the blanket out of the way to idly draw patterns on the blond man’s exposed thigh.

Grantaire took Jehan’s cock into his mouth, savouring the sweet mewling sounds from above him. The poet’s hands fisted in his hair with a surprisingly strong grip but didn’t move, allowing Grantaire to set his own pace; relaxing his throat, he took Jehan’s entire length with minimal effort, reaching a hand down to undo his jeans so as to touch his own sorely neglected erection. He moaned as his fingers tightened around the hot skin, the vibrations in his throat making Jehan’s knees weaken for a second, before the poet tugged at his hair slightly, pulling him off his cock. Grantaire glanced up inquisitively, as Jehan ran his fingers through his dark curls affectionately and smiled shakily. “Need to stop for a minute, R, or this’ll be over before it’s even begun.”

Grantaire smiled back, then stood, pushing off his jeans and boxers in one motion and thanking multiple gods that despite his many insecurities, none of them were physical. Interlocking his fingers with Jehan’s, he drew the other man to the bed, pushing him down next to Courfeyrac and Enjolras, who were grinding against each other, making small noises that went straight to Grantaire’s already-throbbing cock. Jehan pulled Courfeyrac up none too gently with a smirk. “Too many clothes, Courf.”

Courfeyrac grinned back, panting heavily, and let Jehan remove his T-shirt. His frame was not dissimilar to Grantaire’s, broad and muscular, while Enjolras and Jehan were both considerably narrower, their builds more feminine. Grantaire took advantage of Courfeyrac’s momentary distraction to slide over to Enjolras, who still hadn’t said a word.

As soon as Grantaire was within touching distance, Enjolras reached out for him, pulling him over his body and into a deep kiss. There was a note of desperation to it, of need, and Grantaire drew back almost immediately, wanting to check Enjolras wasn’t overwhelmed by the situation. He looked down at his boyfriend with concern, and Enjolras moaned, his eyes glazed with arousal. “Grantaire, please, I _need_ this, I need you inside me, _now_.”

Grantaire started, surprised to hear Enjolras be so explicit – _vulnerable_ – in front of his friends. Then Enjolras rocked up against his thigh, pressing his hard cock into Grantaire’s own, and suddenly Grantaire wasn’t capable of rational thought anymore. They’d both been hard, wanting, for such a long time, and watching Jehan and Courfeyrac writhe next to them, naked and _filthy_ , was doing nothing for Grantaire’s self-control. Pushing himself away from Enjolras, he stood up to retrieve the lube and condoms from his discarded jeans. Jehan broke away from Courfeyrac for just long enough to gesture wordlessly at Grantaire for a condom, then pushed his boyfriend’s thighs up to his chest, the fingers of one hand stroking softly down from Courfeyrac’s thigh to his entrance, and if Grantaire had been capable of having an orgasm just from a visual alone, that would have done it.

Instead, he groaned under his breath, pulling the sheets off Enjolras’s beautiful body, wanting to expose him, wanting to mark him as his own, and knelt between his thighs, loving the way his Apollo’s legs automatically came up to wrap around his hips. He popped open the lube just as Enjolras mumbled “Hurry up” and spread far too much over his hand, knowing that they wouldn’t be able to spend much time on foreplay when they were both so _impossibly_ turned on. Grantaire pushed into Enjolras quickly with one finger, immediately searching for his prostate, making the younger man cry out wildly when he hit it, then swiftly added another. He continued preparing his lover for barely another minute, until Enjolras was pliable around him, almost keening with want, then unwrapped the condom with shaking hands and slid it quickly onto his rock-hard prick. Behind him, Jehan had already penetrated Courfeyrac, who was on his knees, face pressed into the sheets and making pleased grunts as his love began to thrust in earnest.

Grantaire pushed gently, until the first inch of his cock was inside Enjolras, then paused, not wanting to hurt the other man. He wasn’t expecting Enjolras to use his legs to forcefully pull him forwards until he was all the way in, ignoring the painful stretch he must have felt as he rocked back and urged Grantaire to _move, now, just move_. Grantaire’s hips stuttered helplessly, causing Enjolras to whimper brokenly and reach down for his own erection, delicate fingers wrapping around his pulsing length. Regardless of what their positions implied, Grantaire was at Enjolras’s mercy and they both knew it.

Grantaire leaned down to claim Enjolras’s mouth, changing the angle as he smoothly slid almost entirely out before thrusting back in again. Already he felt the slow tingle in his balls that signified his orgasm was close, and Enjolras was frantically scratching bloody lines down his back in a way that suggested he wouldn’t be far behind. By that point, they were both practically unaware of Jehan and Courfeyrac behind them, although the bed was rocking slightly from the force of Jehan’s rapid thrusts. They fucked like this for several minutes, Grantaire keeping his pace slow so as not to precipitate his orgasm too soon, savouring Enjolras’s tight warmth around his cock.

All of a sudden, Enjolras moaned loudly into Grantaire’s mouth before biting down hard on his bottom lip, and Grantaire felt a rush of warmth against his stomach as the blond man came, covering them both. Grantaire waited until Enjolras had settled back against the bed, his orgasm complete, before pulling out and turning the younger man over in one swift move, so that he was on his front facing his friends. Pulling Enjolras hips up, until he was resting on his knees in front of him, Grantaire took hold of his cock and pushed back into Enjolras’s tight entrance, slamming in with a snap of his hips. One of Grantaire’s hands slid up Enjolras’s back to grip him by the shoulder, pressing him down into the mattress, as he fucked him hard while watching Jehan and Courfeyrac.  He noticed with a groan that the poet was evidently just a couple of thrusts away from his own orgasm, one hand wrapped firmly around Courfeyrac’s leaking erection. Grantaire watched as Jehan suddenly tensed with a whimper, only his hips remaining in motion as he ejaculated inside Courfeyrac, while the other man rutted back against him; then, Enjolras was pushing himself up on his elbows, motioning at Courfeyrac wordlessly until he disengaged from Jehan and approached, his hard cock in one hand as Enjolras opened his mouth and went down on him in one smooth move. Somewhere in the recesses of Grantaire’s mind was the dim realisation that _he hasn’t even done that to me yet_ , but he didn’t care, the debauched scene in front of him being enough to finally push him over the edge. With a growl, he pulled out of Enjolras, fingers tightening around his cock as he came over his boyfriend’s back, so forcefully that some even hit Courfeyrac’s stomach. Courfeyrac’s eyes widened in surprise, just as he groaned in pleasure, hips bucking involuntarily as he spent himself in Enjolras’s mouth.

For a few minutes afterwards, they were all wordless, lying in a tangled embrace of limbs on the damp sheets, sticky with various fluids. Enjolras was the first to regain some of his inhibitions, grabbing a blanket and pulling it over himself and Grantaire, prompting Jehan to smile sweetly and sit up, his hand tight in Courfeyrac’s larger one. The poet spoke as he hopped off the bed and bent down to pick up his clothes, his voice sincere. “Thank you. That was fun. We’ll leave you alone now, though.” Courfeyrac grunted tiredly as he nodded in agreement, lifting a hand to catch the clothes Jehan was lobbing at him. “We’ll have to do it again sometime.” Even exhausted, his voice still retained its flirtatious quality.

Grantaire smiled absently as Jehan and Courfeyrac dressed themselves and left the room, his fingers caressing the damp skin of Enjolras’s shoulder. As soon as the door was shut, Enjolras curled into Grantaire, his arm tightening around the older man’s waist as he laid his head upon his chest. Grantaire hummed softly at this, a smile on his face as he spoke. “We should probably have a shower before we go to sleep, or it’ll be gross when we wake up in the morning.”

“I’m not moving.” Enjolras’s voice was sleepy but firm.

Grantaire grinned, not really minding, as he wound his arms tighter around his boyfriend, his eyes already drifting shut.

“I love you.” It was a whisper, but Grantaire felt it more than heard it, Enjolras’s mouth pressed against his collarbone. The smile on his face softened as he murmured an “I love you too” in response, tiredness not entirely eclipsing the slightly apprehensive feeling he couldn’t quite rid himself of whenever he said the words.

It _was_ gross in the morning, but neither of them cared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly 4000 words of pure smut. There will be plot soon, honest.
> 
> Haven't updated the last couple of days, my internet died last night and the night before that I was chilling out on the Sherlock set, I do apologise. I hope this makes up for it!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the story comes to an end.

**Enjolras**

“ _Harder, R, God_ –”

“… _fuck_ , Apollo –”

“– yes, _yes_ , that’s it, _Grantaire_ –”

Enjolras came with a loud groan, body collapsing exhaustedly onto the sheets. Grantaire thrust into him once, twice, and then he was done too, dropping his weight onto Enjolras’s back for a brief second before rolling off him. They lay next to each other in bed, fingers twining together absently as their breathing slowly evened out. After a short while, Enjolras kissed Grantaire’s shoulder and pushed himself up, feeling deliciously sore, with the intention of having the shower he had originally planned on having around half an hour earlier.

He lingered under the hot water for longer than was necessary, enjoying the way the spray seemed to dissipate the ache in his muscles, thinking about nothing and everything at once. His relationship with Grantaire was becoming increasingly comfortable as they grew accustomed to one another; it was now more than two months since they first kissed, and they were still going strong, a record for both of them. There were imperfections, certainly – Enjolras still worked too much and Grantaire still drank too much – but they skirted around these issues, neither wanting to upset the delicate, burgeoning bond between them.

 Overall, Enjolras was happy. Grantaire challenged him, infuriated him, stressed him out, but simultaneously provided him with an outlet for his stress, relaxing him when the pressure got too much. Mostly, though, Grantaire _loved_ him, and Enjolras didn’t know until he’d experienced it just how powerful the feeling was, to be loved by someone so absolutely and love them in return. Everything he desired, everything he believed in, seemed more important now that he had someone to share his progress with, to fight for. _Even if the person in question thought it was a waste of effort_. Enjolras smiled ruefully to himself, turning off the water and pulling his sopping curls back from his face before tying them into a ponytail with the elastic band around his wrist.

He dried himself swiftly, then padded into Grantaire’s bedroom, still naked, comfortable in the knowledge that there was no risk of an awkward meeting in the corridor; Eponine was at Combeferre’s, where she had been spending more and more time over the last few weeks. Grantaire smiled, his eyes still closed, when Enjolras slid into bed next to him, pulling the younger man close with a hum of pleasure and doing his best octopus impression, wrapping his long limbs around Enjolras tightly and holding him there as if he was afraid the other man would get up and leave. Enjolras rolled his eyes good-naturedly and submitted to Grantaire’s ferocious cuddling with a melodramatic sigh.

Yes, he was happy. So it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when everything went wrong.

-ooo-

Two days later, and Enjolras was frustrated. He’d had a long and difficult day; his final exams had taken place that morning, and he was _sure_ he could have done better if only he’d done more revision, and now he was trying to talk to everyone about the abuse of judicial power, but it seemed that all of his friends were just too excited about the end of term to want to concentrate on anything serious. Courfeyrac was whispering into Jehan’s ear, saying something undoubtedly crude if the blush on the poet’s cheeks was anything to go by; Marius, sitting directly behind them, was doodling lovehearts on a pamphlet. Feuilly and Bahorel were flicking beer at each other, getting steadily more raucous the soggier they got, and Joly was asleep on Bossuet’s shoulder. Musichetta did seem to be paying attention, her eyes focused calmly on Enjolras, but she always looked like that, serene and smiling. Neither Eponine nor Cosette were present; they had gone shopping for ‘girl stuff’, leaving Marius staring after them with wide, innocent eyes as they wandered off, giggling between themselves.

Enjolras sighed, wishing Combeferre was there to help, but unfortunately for him his best friend still had a day of exams left, so had stayed at home to prepare. Gritting his teeth, Enjolras massaged his temples for a second before raising his voice. “Guys, seriously, this is _important_ –”

A screwed-up ball of paper bounced off his forehead, falling to the floor at his feet. Enjolras stopped dead, his eyes narrowing fiercely, as silence slowly descended over his friends, who all straightened up in their seats nervously. Nobody seemed willing to look at Grantaire, who was slouched in a seat near the back, looking the very image of an insolent, bored schoolboy. _Drunk again, obviously_.

Enjolras felt anger stirring in the pit of his stomach and gripped the edge of the table tensely, ignoring the way the wood dug sharply into his fingers. “Something to say, Grantaire?”

Grantaire snorted slightly and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. I think you should give it up for tonight, it’s not like anyone’s listening.”

“No thanks to you.” Enjolras’s words were spat out through tight lips.

Grantaire smirked, clearly drunk enough to test Enjolras’s limits without sparing a thought for the potential consequences. “They wouldn’t be listening to you even if I wasn’t here.”

“Well, we can test that. You can leave.” Enjolras ignored the warning signs in his brain, knowing he was close to properly losing his temper but not caring. He found it difficult to reconcile the Grantaire who professed love like the words were a prayer with the Grantaire who evidently had no qualms in mocking everything that Enjolras cared about, _lived for_. It was unsettling, and although Enjolras was loath to admit it, slightly hurtful; a tiny betrayal every time Grantaire belittled his lifelong aims.

“Really?” Grantaire’s smirk hadn’t dropped, and Enjolras found it utterly infuriating. Normally, he would forgive Grantaire’s mocking interruptions, either out of affection or because he enjoyed the challenge, and the other man knew he could get away with a lot where Enjolras was concerned. _Not after a day like this, though. Not now._

Enjolras looked straight at Grantaire, his cold blue eyes drilling into him and seeming to lower the temperature of the room by several degrees. “Yes. I don’t want you here when all you do is get stupidly drunk and bring everyone else down to your standards. I know you don’t agree with my goals, but if you don’t have anything constructive to say, just _get the fuck out_.” The last comment is almost a hiss in Enjolras’s low voice.

Grantaire’s eyes widened, the smirk finally falling from his face. He paused for a minute, looking lost, then pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. “Oh. If that’s what you want.” He walked towards the door, eyes fixed on the ground, although whether out of shame or necessity Enjolras did not know.

Upon reaching the door, he turned and hesitated, large blue eyes finally meeting Enjolras’s own. There was a deep hurt plain to see in their beguiling depths, but Enjolras’s rage prevented him from feeling any guilt, so he simply averted his eyes to the table in front of him, attempting to calm himself down. Grantaire shook his head, then wrenched the door open and left with a muttered “See you around.”

There was quiet in the pub for a minute, and Enjolras couldn’t quite bring himself to look up at his friends, a furious battle of emotions raging in his chest. He sat, staring at the paperwork in front of him, until he felt a soft hand pressing gently against his trembling shoulder. It was Musichetta, and she pulled up a chair next to him, sitting down at his side and radiating sympathy. She said nothing until Enjolras had stopped shaking and relaxed into her touch. “Would you like me to go after him?”

Enjolras swallowed, his anger having abated slightly to be replaced with… _what, exactly_? There was still irritation, certainly, but also a vague sense of shame at having banished Grantaire so brusquely from the meeting, and a slight edge of undefined fear. “No. Don’t worry about it. He’ll be fine when he’s sober.”

“Are you sure?” There was concern in her voice, and Enjolras found it oddly calming.

“Yes.” He was more convinced, now. “But… text Eponine. Give her a heads up.”

-ooo-

**Eponine**

Eponine was lounging in a trendy bar with Cosette, examining the fashionable surroundings with interest, when her phone vibrated in her bag. She quirked an anticipatory eyebrow as she went to pick it up, expecting a missive from Combeferre, but frowned slightly when she looked at the screen.

 **Chetta:** _R and Enjolras fell out. It was pretty bad. R’s alone somewhere. Xx_

She swore under her breath, prompting Cosette to lean towards her worriedly. “Is everything ok?”

“Yeah. No. Maybe, fuck, I don’t know.” She took a breath and ran her hands through her messy dark hair. “Apparently Enjolras and Grantaire had an argument or something, R’s gone missing.”

“Oh.” Cosette looked upset, and Eponine had to crack a smile at her friend’s sensitivity. “Do you know what it was about?”

Eponine shrugged, nonplussed. “Nope. But it doesn’t matter, not with R. He’ll take it badly regardless and his coping mechanisms are not what you’d call healthy.” Resignation passed over her face, and she lifted her cocktail, downing it in one and barely missing having her eye poked out by a rogue miniature umbrella. “Fuck, I’m going to have to find him, I can’t leave him alone when he’s upset.”

Cosette finished her drink too, smiling at Eponine and taking her hand affectionately. “I’ve been told I’m good in a crisis.”

Eponine grinned back. Cosette had a certain delicacy of manner that Eponine herself undoubtedly lacked, so her willingness to help was welcomed. They stood and left the bar, Eponine dialling R’s number from memory as they walked. Holding the phone up to her ear, she waited, before frowning and hitting the ‘end call’ button. “No answer.”

“Is that bad?” Cosette raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

Eponine shook her head. “It’s predictable. We’ll try the apartment first, he usually goes home when he’s feeling shitty. People stress him out too much when he’s upset.”

Cosette nodded understandingly. “I get that. It’s strange though, he always seems so sociable...”

“Yeah, well, he is, when dickwads aren’t making him feel like shit.” Eponine sighed moodily, and Cosette squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean that. I’m just tired of having to pick up the pieces when he gets hurt. Nobody expects him to be fragile because of the front he puts up, and then when they find out he is, they back off and it makes him worse.” She knitted her eyebrows together, her dark eyes troubled.

“Enjolras isn’t like that though, is he?” Cosette bit her lip, looking concerned.

“I don’t think so. Fuck, I hope not, I’ve never seen R so hung up on someone before. But I’ve only known him for about the same length of time as you, so –” she shrugged, “ – who knows.”

They reached the apartment within ten minutes, and Eponine rapidly unlocked the door and hit the lights. “R?”

There was no response from inside the apartment. Eponine checked all the rooms, then returned to Cosette in the hallway, looking genuinely worried. “He’s not here. Shit.”

Cosette’s large eyes widened fearfully, but her voice was steady when she spoke. “We should talk to Enjolras.”

Eponine pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, then lifted her head. “Yeah. The Musain, then.” With a sigh, she grabbed her keys and exasperatedly pulled the door open again.

-ooo-

**Grantaire**

He wandered aimlessly through the streets, feeling small and lonely and mostly, overwhelmingly, _stupid_. He hadn’t meant to push Enjolras too far. He’d been trying to get his attention for the whole meeting, only to be resolutely ignored, so he’d scrunched up a tiny sketch of Apollo and thrown it at the object of his affections.

_Juvenile, yes._

_Needy, yes._

Grantaire groaned, feeling utterly humiliated, and brought the bottle of whiskey he was clutching tightly in his left hand up to his mouth. _Act like a child, get treated like one_.

Still, he hadn’t been expecting the utter fury in Enjolras’s stare. The way he’d told him to fuck off. Something clenched in his chest and he stopped in his tracks, slumping against the wall of the narrow, familiar alley he had somehow come to be staggering down and sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. _Back where you belong, R_.

The mocking voice in his head taunted him, so he drank again to silence it, coughing slightly at the burn. It wasn’t enough to rid him of the fear. _What if that’s it? He wanted me to leave for good?_ His heart pounded at the thought, hammering out a frantic _no, no, no_ against the walls of his chest, while his head reminded him that he already knew it would come to this, in the end.

He was still sitting there an hour later when Enjolras found him.

Grantaire heard footsteps approaching and shut his eyes, tight, just wanting to be ignored. The bottle had been emptied a while before and lay next to him in the gutter, spilling out its final drops among the dust and cigarette butts.

“Grantaire?”

 _Oh, fuck_. He opened his eyes, reluctantly, struggling to focus.

Yep, there he was, blond and glorious, looming godlike over Grantaire’s prostrate figure. That about summed it up, really, Grantaire thought, wishing the alcohol could numb his feelings of shame and inadequacy. “Apollo.” His voice was cracked, hoarse, ruined like the empty shell of a heart that carried on its shameful pretence of life in his chest. “How did you find me?”

“Eponine told me the places you go when you’re upset. What are you doing here?”

“Existing. Sadly.”

Enjolras frowned. Or at least, Grantaire _thought_ he frowned, but everything was still rather blurry. “Come with me.”

It wasn’t a question. He reached down and gripped Grantaire’s arm with strong fingers, hauling him bodily upwards until the drunkard was forced to comply. “Where are you taking me?”

“We’re going home.”

“Why?” It was a genuine question. Grantaire was all too aware of his own miserable, pathetic state at that particular moment in time. He wanted to be left where he was, in the dark, on the floor, because at least then things couldn’t _possibly_ get any worse.

“Because I’m not going to leave you outside when you’re drunk and it’s freezing, Grantaire, _come on_.”

“ _No!_ ” He jerked back, breaking Enjolras’s grasp and stumbling back against the wall. “I can’t do this, Enjolras, I can’t just act like everything is fine when I know you’re going to snap and shove me away as soon as you have work to do, or I get too dependent or clingy or whatever, and I can’t cope just waiting for that moment, knowing I’ll never live up to your fucking glorious standards.”

Enjolras’s expression was a mask, but Grantaire detected a hint of apprehension in his voice when he spoke. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying _I can’t do this_. Not with you. Leave me alone.”

The mask broke for a second, and Grantaire saw his own hurt reflected on perfect marble features, but then Enjolras’s expression became unfathomable once more. “Is that what you really want?”

“You make me feel like _shit_ , Enjolras. And that’s not your fault, it’s just that you’re meant to be amazing, always, and I’m only ever going to be crawling in the mud at your feet.”

“Don’t be melodramatic.” Enjolras’s voice was clipped as he stared at his own feet.

“It’s true, though. It’s like you said earlier. I just bring people down.” His voice broke on the last word and he felt a tear cascade down his face.

“I was angry earlier.” Enjolras stared at Grantaire, a vaguely pleading look in his eyes.

“Yeah, because you wouldn’t interrupt your speech for _five fucking minutes_ to say hello to me, or even pretend that you were glad to see me, and I dared to try and get your attention.”

“It wasn’t like that, Grantaire. You _mocked_ me, told me that no one was listening –”

“And that’s the biggest affront to you, isn’t it? That somebody might not be hanging on your every word? _Fucking hell_ , Enjolras.”

“ _No!_ ” His voice was angry again. “Listen, _I’m sorry_ I didn’t pay you much attention earlier, it’s just been a long day and I wanted to get everything done before it got late.”

“But it’s always going to be like that.” Grantaire wasn’t raising his voice anymore. He was tired, and sad, and _just so done_ with everything. “I’m always going to come second. And I’m always going to be the drunk guy in the back who you wish would just shut up until you’re done.” He bowed his head, tears falling freely down his face.

“Grantaire, _I love you_.” Enjolras moved towards Grantaire again, reaching up to sweep his dark curls away from his face, but Grantaire turned his head to the side, recoiling.

“Don’t, Apollo. I will always be drunk, and you will always put work first. It’s just not going to work between us.” Grantaire sniffed harshly and rubbed his eyes on his sleeve, still not meeting Enjolras’s eye.

“You know what, _fine_. If that’s what you want, I’m not going to stick around and argue.” Enjolras turned to leave, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Grantaire knew he should just leave it there, but he was opening his mouth before his brain kicked in. “ _No, it’s not what I want_. But _you_ were the one to tell me to fuck off earlier.”

Enjolras stopped in the middle of the alley, before whirling around, his eyes blazing. “I didn’t mean _forever_ , for fuck’s sake! I just couldn’t stand there while you belittled me in front of all of our friends and acted like nothing I do matters!” He stalked back towards Grantaire, his face hard as stone. “Just because _you_ want to be a cynic and live an empty life, it doesn’t mean you get to do that to me too.”

Grantaire remained mute in the face of the other man’s anger, defensive and ashamed.

Enjolras’s voice softened slightly. “You’ve been to protests with me and I know you enjoyed them, R, _I know_ you could feel the change, the hope. What’s so wrong with clinging onto that?”

Grantaire shook his head wordlessly, exhaling with a huff. “I feel the hope because you… _radiate_ it. I believe in _you_ , not the causes you drag me along to support.”

“Well, isn’t that enough? For now, at least?” Enjolras sighed tiredly, running a hand through unruly curls. “You need to believe in _something_ , R, or you’ll destroy yourself, and I can’t let that happen to you, I just _can’t_.” He reached out for Grantaire again, and this time the other man let him wipe the tears from underneath his eyes. “I love you, I mean it.”

Grantaire let Enjolras’s arms encircle him, resting his head on the blond man’s shoulder and feeling as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. “I love you too.” He breathed it into Enjolras’s neck and felt his arms tighten around his back.

“Can we go home? Please?”

Grantaire nodded softly and let the other man lead him. _For now, at least_.

-ooo-

_Epilogue_

**Enjolras and Grantaire – one year later**

“There’s just one box left, then that’s everything moved.” Grantaire smiled at Enjolras, standing by the door of the flat that was soon to be theirs and theirs alone, and took the blond man’s hand in his.

“What about Javert’s chair?” Enjolras raised his eyebrows inquisitively with an amused half-smile.

“Don’t tell me you’ve warmed to it?” Grantaire feigned shock, before sticking his tongue out at his boyfriend. “I’m going to get Courfeyrac to help me sneak it back into his office.”

Enjolras wrinkled his nose disapprovingly. “We’ve had sex on that. A lot.”

Grantaire grinned. “Yeah, that might be why we’re returning it. Turns me on a little.”

Enjolras shook his head in mock-disgust. “You are vile.”

“You love me really.”

“Yes.” Enjolras smiled at Grantaire, a genuine smile that lit up his godlike features and never failed to make Grantaire’s heart beat a tiny bit faster.

-ooo-

Shortly before Grantaire and Eponine’s lease had expired, Eponine had declared her wish to move in with Combeferre, and as all of Enjolras’s roommates had also settled into long-term relationships it was swiftly decided that the best course of action would be to finally move out of the flat they had shared for the length of their first two years at University. _Everyone_ was fed up with having to awkwardly listen to their friends having sex through the walls.

So it was that Courfeyrac and Jehan were now cohabiting, as were Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta, the latter couple conveniently occupying the spacious flat above the Musain. Feuilly and Bahorel had simply shrugged and decided to continue living with each other, an arrangement that suited them both. Marius and Cosette, much to their combined disappointment, were to be burdened with overprotective parents for at least another year yet. Eponine had moved into Combeferre’s without much fuss, and Enjolras and Grantaire had found a relatively cheap apartment with a large spare room to serve as Grantaire’s studio – a necessity, as his work, bearing what one reviewer described as ‘strong existentialist and nihilist themes’ (although admittedly the reviewers would never see the portraits Grantaire did of Enjolras, filled with meaning and hope), was proving popular now that he’d finished University – and an even bigger bedroom for Enjolras to work in.

 _He still worked too much_. Grantaire grinned at his boyfriend and ruffled his hair affectionately, eliciting a sharp-eyed glare in return. But then, he still drank too much, and had the occasional depressive episode, and they made it work somehow. They didn’t have the pure romance of Jehan and Courfeyrac, or the uncomplicated practicality of Combeferre and Eponine, but they loved each other, and for now, _it was enough_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the ending seems a little abrupt, I kind of wanted to end this before it got too long and rambly and I was beginning to lose my direction. Still, I hope you've all enjoyed it :3 it's the first fanfiction I've ever written so all your comments have been wonderful and ILY ALL.
> 
> Expect more from me soon, I just love these boys too much. (Promo - my next ff is likely to be Combeferre/Courfeyrac centric...)


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